So, I've decided to move this blog to livejournal. I'll post new stories as I write them there and at fanfiction.net since they seem to work better for posting stories/fan-fiction.
The older stories that I have started posting here I have provided the links to the ff.net links in one of my livejournal posts.
Thanks to the two of you who have been reading. I hope you continue to. I appreciate the feedback.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Beginnings -- chapter 8
Nine Months and Two Weeks Pregnant
One hand twisted around the rail of the hospital bed, while the other rested on her stomach and she bent her knees as far as her belly would allow.
“Where the hell is he?” Eames asked.
“Do you want me to text him again?” Carrie, her sister, asked.
“No,” Eames groaned and twisted her body.
“Another contraction?”
Eames nodded and her sister began to time it.
“Okay,” she breathed out as it passed.
“Do you want some ice chips?” Carrie asked.
“No, I don’t want any damn ice chips.”
“Look, big sis, I didn’t get you into this predicament this time, so you can’t abuse me this time,” she teased.
Eames tried to laugh. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay…I still love you.”
“You better,” Eames snorted.
Carrie laughed and then looked up at the footsteps coming through the door.
“Hey Bobby,” Carrie said.
“What the hell took you so long?”
Goren nodded hello to Carrie as he approached the bed and loosened his tie.
“We were at a crime scene,” he said.
“I’m two weeks overdue and he’s sniffing dead bodies.”
“I told you I would have taken the time off.”
“I’m gonna go make phone calls,” Carrie said just before slipping out the door.
“And you told me not to,” Goren finished.
Eames sighed. “I know…so tell me about it.”
“What?”
“The case!” she huffed and then recoiled. “I’m sorry.”
She reached out for his hand.
“You’re not going to break it are you?”
She faintly smiled. “I’ll try not too.”
He knew a short tempered Eames was usually hiding a worried or scared Eames.
“Fair enough,” he said as he tightened his fingers around hers and then kissed the back of her hand. “How do you feel?”
She responded with her you’re not serious look, though she knew he was.
“Well…I have a bowling ball nipping at my crotch, I’m already tired…all the nurses are young, pretty, and disgustingly cheery. I can’t believe I forgot how much this hurts…and I’m starting to realize I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into…sure I’ve taken care of my nieces and nephews, but I’ve always given them back—“
“Hey,” he said, teasingly stern. “I thought I had the patent on freaking out in this relationship.”
Eames laughed despite the pain and fear bubbling through her.
“You’ve been spending too much time with me…you’re starting to sound like me.”
He smiled and leaned to kiss her temple. He lingered there, allowing her to feel his breath and he began to massage her scalp with his fingertips.
“You’ve always known everything’s going to be okay,” the vibration of his voice was soft against her skin. “You even managed to get me to believe it…there’s no reason to think differently now.”
She squeezed his hand and they continued to wait.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Eames was curled on her side with heavy eyelids and muscles still aching. She lifted her lids and a lazy smile crossed her lips at the sight across from her.
Goren sat in a chair near her hospital bed and traced the tiny, soft features of the little girl resting in the crook of his arm.
“Hey,” she said with a hoarse voice.
“Hey,” he smiled up at her.
“Well, what do you think?”
He opened his mouth but no words would come out
“Will wonders never cease,” Eames smirked. “You’re speechless.”
He turned back to study the girl’s face and lightly drew his finger along her brow and into the hair that was so obviously his, then down her cheek to the nose that was so obviously Eames’.
“It’s strange,” he finally said. “How…how natural this feels…how attached…”
“I know,” Eames said as she shifted and raised the bed to a sitting position. “Come here.”
Goren slipped the little girl into Eames’ lap and sat beside her. He wrapped an arm around her hips and let her lean into his shoulder, so that his chin grazed her temple.
“She’s absolutely beautiful, Eames,” he said softly.
“Hey, Madison,” Eames said as a tiny fist captured her index finger.
Eames thought back to the first time she did this and how the experience changed her completely, but that he wasn’t hers, then drowned in the fact that she was.
She pressed her palm against her teary eyes.
“Hey,” Goren tilted his head to see her face.
“Sorry…I’m just a little overwhelmed, I guess.”
“Yeah, me too…I just…I’ve never seen you cry.”
Eames smiled. “Don’t tell.”
“Promise,” he smiled and held up is free hand in surrender.
“Did Carrie leave?”
“Yeah…when your parents got here. She’s going to try to come back later with Nathan. Lucas is apparently going to come by with Cass after his shift, but Danny is stuck at the firehouse. Lily may come without him depending on how she’s feeling.”
“I take it mom gave you the run down?”
“Yeah.”
“They’ve seen her, right?”
Goren nodded. “Your…your dad…hugged me.”
Eames laughed. “You’ll learn that granddaughters make great bargaining tools with my old man.”
“And Deakins came by…”
“Really?”
Goren nodded. “Yeah…officially he says he’s very disappointed in our un-professionalism and for lying to him—“
“We didn’t lie…we just omitted.”
“I tried that, but…he said unofficially…she’s…a very lucky girl.”
For a moment her resolve was softened by the sentiment.
“He didn’t try to hug you too, did he?”
Goren laughed. “Thankfully no.”
“Have you told your mom yet?”
“I called her…she’s called me three times since then. She wants to talk to you…wants to tell you to make sure I bring the two of you with me to see her.”
“I can call her…”
“You don’t have to.”
“Will it help?”
He nodded reluctantly. “Probably.”
“Then I’ll call.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Uh…they wanted me to finalize the birth certificate, but we never really finished discussing last names.”
“Hyphen or no hyphen.”
“We haven’t even thought about middle names, so…what if Eames is her middle name.”
“That’s a lot of last names,” she smiled. “But I think it suits her. And you already signed off on it didn’t you?”
“Well they were very pushy about it.”
She laughed and leaned her head back to look up at him. It was the first time she can remember not seeing any hint of worry or trepidation in the corners of his eyes.
He lightly touched his lips to hers and they both smiled.
One hand twisted around the rail of the hospital bed, while the other rested on her stomach and she bent her knees as far as her belly would allow.
“Where the hell is he?” Eames asked.
“Do you want me to text him again?” Carrie, her sister, asked.
“No,” Eames groaned and twisted her body.
“Another contraction?”
Eames nodded and her sister began to time it.
“Okay,” she breathed out as it passed.
“Do you want some ice chips?” Carrie asked.
“No, I don’t want any damn ice chips.”
“Look, big sis, I didn’t get you into this predicament this time, so you can’t abuse me this time,” she teased.
Eames tried to laugh. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay…I still love you.”
“You better,” Eames snorted.
Carrie laughed and then looked up at the footsteps coming through the door.
“Hey Bobby,” Carrie said.
“What the hell took you so long?”
Goren nodded hello to Carrie as he approached the bed and loosened his tie.
“We were at a crime scene,” he said.
“I’m two weeks overdue and he’s sniffing dead bodies.”
“I told you I would have taken the time off.”
“I’m gonna go make phone calls,” Carrie said just before slipping out the door.
“And you told me not to,” Goren finished.
Eames sighed. “I know…so tell me about it.”
“What?”
“The case!” she huffed and then recoiled. “I’m sorry.”
She reached out for his hand.
“You’re not going to break it are you?”
She faintly smiled. “I’ll try not too.”
He knew a short tempered Eames was usually hiding a worried or scared Eames.
“Fair enough,” he said as he tightened his fingers around hers and then kissed the back of her hand. “How do you feel?”
She responded with her you’re not serious look, though she knew he was.
“Well…I have a bowling ball nipping at my crotch, I’m already tired…all the nurses are young, pretty, and disgustingly cheery. I can’t believe I forgot how much this hurts…and I’m starting to realize I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into…sure I’ve taken care of my nieces and nephews, but I’ve always given them back—“
“Hey,” he said, teasingly stern. “I thought I had the patent on freaking out in this relationship.”
Eames laughed despite the pain and fear bubbling through her.
“You’ve been spending too much time with me…you’re starting to sound like me.”
He smiled and leaned to kiss her temple. He lingered there, allowing her to feel his breath and he began to massage her scalp with his fingertips.
“You’ve always known everything’s going to be okay,” the vibration of his voice was soft against her skin. “You even managed to get me to believe it…there’s no reason to think differently now.”
She squeezed his hand and they continued to wait.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Eames was curled on her side with heavy eyelids and muscles still aching. She lifted her lids and a lazy smile crossed her lips at the sight across from her.
Goren sat in a chair near her hospital bed and traced the tiny, soft features of the little girl resting in the crook of his arm.
“Hey,” she said with a hoarse voice.
“Hey,” he smiled up at her.
“Well, what do you think?”
He opened his mouth but no words would come out
“Will wonders never cease,” Eames smirked. “You’re speechless.”
He turned back to study the girl’s face and lightly drew his finger along her brow and into the hair that was so obviously his, then down her cheek to the nose that was so obviously Eames’.
“It’s strange,” he finally said. “How…how natural this feels…how attached…”
“I know,” Eames said as she shifted and raised the bed to a sitting position. “Come here.”
Goren slipped the little girl into Eames’ lap and sat beside her. He wrapped an arm around her hips and let her lean into his shoulder, so that his chin grazed her temple.
“She’s absolutely beautiful, Eames,” he said softly.
“Hey, Madison,” Eames said as a tiny fist captured her index finger.
Eames thought back to the first time she did this and how the experience changed her completely, but that he wasn’t hers, then drowned in the fact that she was.
She pressed her palm against her teary eyes.
“Hey,” Goren tilted his head to see her face.
“Sorry…I’m just a little overwhelmed, I guess.”
“Yeah, me too…I just…I’ve never seen you cry.”
Eames smiled. “Don’t tell.”
“Promise,” he smiled and held up is free hand in surrender.
“Did Carrie leave?”
“Yeah…when your parents got here. She’s going to try to come back later with Nathan. Lucas is apparently going to come by with Cass after his shift, but Danny is stuck at the firehouse. Lily may come without him depending on how she’s feeling.”
“I take it mom gave you the run down?”
“Yeah.”
“They’ve seen her, right?”
Goren nodded. “Your…your dad…hugged me.”
Eames laughed. “You’ll learn that granddaughters make great bargaining tools with my old man.”
“And Deakins came by…”
“Really?”
Goren nodded. “Yeah…officially he says he’s very disappointed in our un-professionalism and for lying to him—“
“We didn’t lie…we just omitted.”
“I tried that, but…he said unofficially…she’s…a very lucky girl.”
For a moment her resolve was softened by the sentiment.
“He didn’t try to hug you too, did he?”
Goren laughed. “Thankfully no.”
“Have you told your mom yet?”
“I called her…she’s called me three times since then. She wants to talk to you…wants to tell you to make sure I bring the two of you with me to see her.”
“I can call her…”
“You don’t have to.”
“Will it help?”
He nodded reluctantly. “Probably.”
“Then I’ll call.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Uh…they wanted me to finalize the birth certificate, but we never really finished discussing last names.”
“Hyphen or no hyphen.”
“We haven’t even thought about middle names, so…what if Eames is her middle name.”
“That’s a lot of last names,” she smiled. “But I think it suits her. And you already signed off on it didn’t you?”
“Well they were very pushy about it.”
She laughed and leaned her head back to look up at him. It was the first time she can remember not seeing any hint of worry or trepidation in the corners of his eyes.
He lightly touched his lips to hers and they both smiled.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
A Long Walk
A/N: This is a companion piece to my fic Beginnings and takes place between chapters 7 and 8, though you won’t be completely lost if you haven’t read that. This shows Eames’s POV as she reflects on where they are in their relationship and meets Goren’s mom for the first time. Please review.
Part One: Getting There
This was his idea.
He’s spent the better part of two months coming up with excuses so he can retract his invitation. She’s been really paranoid about new people recently; Dr. Shimo says her delusions have increased; she’s still getting use to the new medications.
Bullshit.
He’s finally run out of excuses and as I guide the car onto the interstate I watch him from the corner of my eye. He’s unusually quiet and his leg keeps bobbing up and down. I swear he’s making the whole car shake and I’m on the verge of threatening to cut the damn thing off.
He only speaks to give me directions and mostly just stares out the window.
Why does this have to be so difficult?
I’m just meeting the mother of the man whose child I am having. Sounds simple, right?
Well, maybe not completely simple.
We are cops, and not just cops, but partners (well were partners), his mother’s schizophrenic, we’ve only been together (romantically) for a year and I’m seven months pregnant (I’m sure you can do the math).
Not exactly where either of us thought we would be a year ago, but here we are and even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming he’s going to be happy about this.
I think most of him is, but he just doesn’t know what to do with this: having someone else to share in his life.
Oh, Jesus, now he’s tapping his finger and bobbing his knee.
I swear to God, “Bobby!”
“What?” he asks, his neck snapping toward me.
“Can you please stop fidgeting?”
He sighs and runs a hand down his face.
“No,” he shrugs.
I’ll never quiet understand how a six foot four, forty year old man can look and sound like such a little boy.
“I can tell right now we are never taking long family road trips.”
“Look I’m sorry all right…”
“Can you at least talk to me…drown out the noise…something”
“What do you want me to talk about?”
What does he think I want him to talk about?
“Maybe why you can’t sit still…why you even invited me in the first place?”
I feel him thinking as I hear him shift in the seat and I realize he has partially turned toward me.
He still doesn’t speak, but I know he’s trying to figure out the right words.
If one thing is true about Robert Goren it’s that everything he says he says with purpose.
“My…my mom doesn’t have the best track record when…when it comes to meeting my girlfriends,” he says.
“She’s not going to scare me away.”
He shakes his head. “She may call you things…she can catch you off guard…it can be very startling if you’re not use to it…”
“Bobby, I worked Vice for four years…I’ve been called just about everything in the book…”
He’s quiet again, staring out the window.
This is the dance we do. He gives a little, decides it’s too much and begins to retreat again. We get so close, so many times, to being a whole working entity that it’s infuriating.
Maybe it’s not worth it.
Maybe it would have been better, easier, if I had never knocked on his apartment door that night; if we had worked the rest of our partnership swimming in what ifs.
But then I wouldn’t have this little girl growing inside me; a little girl I have fallen desperately in love with and I know it’s all because of one knock on one door.
When I was very little I always got very afraid when my parents argued. One time my mom found me crying at the foot of the stairs, after dad stormed out to the garage, and she cradled me like an infant in her arms. In my five year old mind, fights meant mommy and daddy didn’t love each other, because love wasn’t supposed to be hard work. Then she said to me, “Life isn’t about easy; it’s about fighting.”
You fight for the things you care about; the things that are worth the sacrifices.
“Eames,” his soft voice cuts through my thoughts and I realize I’m on the verge of tears.
Maybe he noticed, hell he probably just noticed a change in my breathing.
“Yeah?” I reply, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
“I do want you with me today…it’s just…everything with my mom…can be…unpredictable.”
“I understand that—“
“N-no you don’t,” He knows the comment pisses me off and raises a hand, asking for permission to explain. “One minute she’ll beg me for a grandchild and…and the next I’m the neglectful son who spends all his time with his girlfriend…”
He lets out a long sigh and we both know that he has only scratched the surface of the thoughts and fears rolling around his head.
“So, what?” I blurt, my mouth bubbling with annoyance and too many raw emotions to count.
Maybe I can just blame the pregnancy hormones. “What are you so afraid of?”
He scoffs and leans back in his seat. He’s annoyed now too; good.
He’s used to me giving him his space when he’s like this, knowing that eventually he’ll come back to me. Well I don’t feel like waiting right now. I’m tired and fat and I don’t feel like his carry the world on my shoulders bullshit.
“I’m afraid of what you’ll see,” he says so softly I’m not sure if I just imagined it.
“I see horrible things everyday…you’re going to have to be a little less cryptic…”
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.
“I don’t want…” his voice trails followed by a long sigh. “I’m scared of what you’ll think…of…of her…me…”
I want to wrap myself around him and burn the knowledge into his skin that I’m not leaving, but since I’m driving that’s probably not my best course of action.
What can I say to get him to believe me?
Great, now the baby’s getting restless too. Only his child would figure out a way to pace while still in the womb.
I grab his hand, tugging him out of his corner, and place his palm flat against my belly. I clamp my hand over his and feel the faint roaming kicks through his skin.
Do you see now? Do you see why I’m not running away from this despite every complication that might prove it to be the wiser, easier, choice?
I remove my hand to navigate a turn, but am washed with relief when his remains on my stomach.
“I get that this is hard for you…I do…but can you just have a little faith in me—“
“I do, Eames—“
“It doesn’t seem that way…it seems like you’re still waiting for me to run the other way…”
His thumb moves against my stomach in a slow sweeping motion and I hear him sigh.
“I…I know…you’re not going to run away from this…from me,” he says. “But…a-a part of me still thinks maybe…you should.”
I don’t know whether to scream at him out of frustration or cry for the broken hearted little boy, who never got a chance to be a little boy.
“Well, you’re lucky I don’t give a damn about what you think.”
I hear him snort and see the first genuine smile I’ve seen in days.
He leans his chin against my shoulder and lightly kisses the fabric of my hoodie.
“I know I’m not making this easy…but visiting my mom is stressful anyway…and having you with me just adds more things to worry about…to keep in mind…can you please just drop this for now? Tonight…we can talk about it…however much you want…but right now I just need you to let me…freak out.”
I glance at him briefly and see the sincerity in his chocolate eyes.
I sigh. “Okay, I’ll drop it for now, but promise we will talk about it…everything…later.”
“I promise,” he nods.
I nod back and return my attention back to the road. He kisses my temple before retreating back to his corner, but he leaves his arm stretched across the space between us and his fingers
draw circles in my stomach.
Part Two: Maneuvering
He’s still fidgety as he leads me into the facility.
It’s not exactly what I was expecting, though I guess I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s warmer than any other hospital or nursing home I’ve visited and looks as if the staff actually puts forth the effort to make it homey.
There’s an older black nurse at the sign-in desk, who gives Bobby a warm smile and me a pleasantly surprised look as we continue on.
His tension seems to only be noticeable to me and I am trying hard to ignore it as my own nerves are starting to bubble up in my stomach.
Naturally I want his mother to like me, but I also have no idea how to get her to do so. Joe’s mom and I never got along, but I at least knew how to communicate with her.
The first time I visited my grandmother in the nursing home as a kid, I learned I’m not very good at dealing with sick people or hospitals. First that sterile smell clogs your head and then you have no idea what’s okay to say and what isn’t. Do you address the issue head on? Do you ignore it completely like some stray cat you don’t want to get stuck feeding?
If only they made etiquette books on how to meet your boyfriend’s schizophrenic mother.
He stops abruptly and I realize we are standing outside her door.
“I…uh…I’m just going to go in first and let her know…you’re here,” he says.
I nod. “Okay…I’ll be right here.”
He nods back and then softly knocks before disappearing behind the beige door.
I lean against the rose colored wallpaper and find my hand resting on my stomach. Beneath my palm I can feel our daughter restlessly waiting. She’s probably going to be just as perceptive as her father and can feel the tension radiating off of us.
I take in a deep breath, willing both her and me to settle.
“Eames,” Bobby says, poking his head back into the hallway.
He holds the door open for me and I walk in to find Frances Goren sitting primly on a small sofa. She keeps her chin high and her lips thinly pressed as she studies me with large dark eyes.
So that’s where Bobby gets that look.
“See, I told you,” Frances says, as Bobby makes his way between where I stand and she sits. “I make her uncomfortable.”
Well, I can see this is going to go brilliantly.
“Mom…”
“Probably all those stories you’ve told her about me,” Frances said.
“He hasn’t…” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m over stepping my boundaries. “…told me many stories.”
Frances nods tensely. “He’s always been very secretive. Even as a kid he would never bring people to meet his crazy mother.”
Bobby rubs a hand down his face and I don’t know whether to speak or wait for them to work it out, but then she continues.
“He didn’t bother telling me about you until after you got yourself pregnant.”
“Mom, please.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly do it by myself,” I mutter, and then remember that this isn’t my family and snide comments may not be treated the same as hugs and kisses.
She watches me with cool eyes and I have no idea what she might be thinking of me. For some reason I didn’t think about the fact that she might look down on me for getting pregnant five months into a relationship.
“In my day, it was always the woman’s responsibility,” she exaggerates her point by pressing her forefinger into her knee and pauses for a long moment as she watches the tip of her finger bend. “Well come here and let me get a look at you. If we can trust these doctors then I’m not contagious.”
She gestures to me as if coming out of a daze and pats the seat beside her.
I don’t look at Bobby as I pass him, since I know the uncertainty in my eyes will only exacerbate his tension.
From my seat beside her I can see the two book cases on the wall by the door and a simply framed picture of a young Bobby Goren right after he joined the army.
Some of the books look very old and well read, ranging from a variety of authors and eras. The shelves look as if they might bust at the seams, but they still don’t look full enough, judging from what Bobby has told me about her love of literature.
“Bobby,” Frances says as she grabs and then tugs on his wrist until he kneels in front of her. “I finished that copy of Mrs. Dalloway you brought, but I need you to find To the Lighthouse.”
“You have To the Lighthouse.”
Frances shakes her head and says, “Well then someone took it. You need to find it.”
Bobby sighs. “You probably gave it to Mrs. Rogers down the hall…she’s always barrowing books from you.”
“She takes them,” she says firmly.
“You always say that and she always brings them back,” Bobby says.
“Don’t patronize,” Frances says and then abruptly turns toward me. “He always does this…acts like I don’t know what’s going on.”
I have no idea how to respond to the scene in front of me; unsure if I should remain an outsider looking in or if I’m allowed to participate.
“I’m not…” Bobby tries to defend himself.
“You go find it then,” Frances says.
“Mom—“
“Go on,” she says, shooing him with a wave of her hand.
Bobby glances at me with worried eyes.
I nod, hoping to reassure him. “We’ll be fine.”
He gives each of us one last look before reluctantly turning and heading out the door.
“He told me it’s a girl,” she says with her face just as stoic and unreadable as when I walked in.
“It is,” I say.
“He gave me one of the sonograms a few weeks ago,” she pulls the now worn picture out of the pocket of her house coat as she speaks. “I think he was keeping it in his breast pocket.”
I can’t help but smile at the thought as she passes me the picture. It is over a month old, but looks like it has been handled for years. I’m not sure if it is from her hands or his, though it’s probably both. It makes sense that Bobby would be just as secretive about his excitement as he is about his fears.
“I didn’t realize he had this,” I say as I pass it back to her.
“He loves you,” she says, but keeps her eyes on the picture. “I’ve never seen him as relaxed as he’s been this past year.”
“If you call this relaxed,” I snort.
She looks as me rather startled and I’m scared I’ve said the wrong thing, but then she lets out a small laugh.
“He was always very worrisome.” A sadness that I’ve glanced a few times in Bobby’s eyes creeps into hers and she turns her face away from me. “Though I don’t guess I gave him much choice in that. You make him happy.”
I part of me knows he is, but the other part of me is slightly jealous that I never seem to get to see it.
“You will let me see her on occasion, I hope,” she says.
It takes a minute for what she’s asking me to register and the truth is I never really gave it any thought. It has never been a necessary debate in my family as to whether or not it’s safe for the children to see their grandparents.
“Of course.”
“Well, make sure Bobby brings her…he’ll be worried how I might act,” she says. “I’m sure he was worried about what I might say to you.”
I can’t help but smile a little at her candor.
“He’s been driving me crazy all week,” I say with a laugh.
She nods, still looking at the sonogram.
“He’s spent his whole life worrying about everyone but himself…he doesn’t know any other way to be.”
I can feel my eyes misting over. The annoyed part of me that’s tired of being this touchy feely, emotional person wants this whole pregnancy thing to be done with, but another part brings my hand to my stomach in a slow, steady caress, needing to feel close to him at that moment.
All I want to do is hug this woman who made this amazing man and for acknowledging how hard it’s been for him. I can’t help but wonder if he knows that somewhere in her mind she understands how much he’s sacrificed.
“I know,” I finally manage to say after swallowing the threat of tears.
Bobby comes back into the room with the same perfect timing we had when working over a suspect. I half wonder if he wasn’t outside listening to us.
He holds the book up so his mother can see and then places it back on the shelf in a small vacant slit.
“Well did she have it?” Frances asks.
Bobby nods.
“I told you she took it.”
Bobby nods again, but this time also sighs and I can tell that he just doesn’t want to argue with her.
“What have you two been talking about?” he asks as he pulls a rocking chair up to sit in front of us.
“We can have our secrets too,” Frances says. “Now, you two come have dinner with me and tell me more about my grandchild.”
She begins to push herself up from the sofa and Bobby rises to help, but she lightly bats him away.
I reach for his hand and he smiles down at me before helping me to my feet. I know he expects me to let go and I can tell he’s surprised when I don’t, but, whether we’re both capable of admitting it or not, we both need the comfort.
Frances tugs on his other arm and we follow her hand in hand.
Part Three: Slowing Down
I pass him the keys as we walk back to the car in the half moonlight and he turns with a startled look.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah…just tired. This kid is sucking up all my energy.”
I give him a tired smile as he opens the passenger side door and I can feel him studying me. Most of his tension is gone, but there is still some uncertainty in his eyes.
“Don’t be offended if I fall asleep on the way,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I won’t.”
“Well enjoy the time by yourself, cause you’re not getting out of talking to me,” I say as I climb in and then look up at him.
He smiles faintly, nodding, and closes the door.
I don’t remember the ride as I am true to my word and dose on and off most of the way, occasionally coherent enough to catch a rode sign.
The next thing that I remember, that I’m sure isn’t a dream, is the feel of Bobby’s fingers against my cheek. I lean toward the sensation and slowly open my eyes to find him watching me with a small smile.
“We’re home,” he says.
I look up to find that we’re parked in my driveway and I smile as it dawns on me that he used the term “we.”
“I guess we should go inside,” I say.
“There are more comfortable places to sleep inside,” he says.
I nod with a soft chuckle and we begin going through the motions of getting into my house.
I head straight for the bathroom and slip into my most comfortable pajamas before washing my face and then brushing my teeth.
I know better than to push him into talking and trust that he will honor his earlier promise, so I don’t venture back out to the living room or kitchen, but go straight to my bed.
I lie on my back, because it’s starting to be the only comfortable position, with multiple pillows supporting me and stare down at my swollen belly.
“I don’t know about you, little one, but I think that went pretty well,” I say. “I think she’s very excited to meet you.”
“She is,” I hear Bobby’s voice in the doorway and I smile as I turn to look at him. “She may not always seem like it…but she is.”
We just watch each other for a minute and I can feel him hesitating to join me. He looks more relaxed in his worn sweats and T-shirt, but I also know how truly talented he is at hiding what he doesn’t want to be seen.
“You just going to hover there all night?” I ask.
He pushes himself off the door frame and eases down beside me. I’m a little surprised when he lays his head above my breast and places his hand on top of my stomach. My hand seems to automatically find its way into his hair and I make small circles with my finger tips.
“How is she doing?” he asks.
“Restless,” I say with a tired smile. “Like her father…”
“Sorry,” he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You know, there’s worst people she could end up like.”
He’s quiet and begins to pace with his hand, letting it roam around my stomach.
“I…I hope she’s like you…” he finally says.
I snort. “You may regret that when she’s a teenager.”
He softly laughs and then leans his face closer to the top of my stomach.
“Go easy on your mom, okay?” he whispers. “She has enough to deal with putting up with me.”
He lays his head back down on my chest, while his fingers continue to wander the span of my stomach and I think back to the worn sonogram Frances passed to me earlier. I wonder how many times he privately stared at the little blur of our daughter and what he might have thought. Did he make promises or give voice to all the fears he will only give me a little insight on?
Or maybe he actually said he was happy, though I don’t guess I readily tell him all the things I’ve been feeling either.
“Bobby?”
“Hmm?”
“You…you know I’m happy, don’t you?”
His hesitation tells me it wasn’t the question he was expecting and after a beat he looks up at me with a puzzled, almost worried look.
“I…I know she makes you happy,” he says.
I shake my head. “No…I don’t mean her…I mean you,” I say, a little annoyed at how small and tentative my voice seems to sound. “Do you know how happy you make me?”
He stares at me, still perplexed. “I…I hope I do…”
“You do…you have no idea what you’ve given me,” I say, but can’t look him in the eyes when I do. It’s too true and too emotional for me not to feel exposed and a little embarrassed. “I had given up…I didn’t think I had, but I did.”
I feel his palm against my cheek as he tilts my head up, forcing me to look at him.
“A-all I want is…is to make you an-and her…happy…to…to deserve you.”
“You do…are you? Are you happy?”
He looks almost wounded by the question.
“Of course I am…I…I never meant to make you think I’m not…I-I know I haven’t been a prince through all this…” his voice trails as he looks down at my stomach. “…but the more I think of her the happier I am…it’s just I don’t really know what to do with that…”
I run a finger along his cheek, enjoying the feel of the barely there, but still scratchy stubble.
“Just accept it,” I say softly.
He gave an amused but still unsure smile.
“Wish it was that easy,” he says.
I feel the weight of his head once again, this time a little higher on my shoulder and his fingers resume their pacing across my abdomen.
“But it did go well today, didn’t it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, but there is a hint of reservations in his tone.
“But…”
He sighs. “But…it was just a few hours…you can’t know for sure that next time something won’t go wrong…”
“So it goes wrong…what’s the worst that could happen?”
He’s quiet, though I know that in his mind he’s gone to a very specific place and time, one that he’s scared to open to me.
“Bobby, I know she can’t help the way she is—“
“It’s not just that,” he says with a huff and pulls away, propping himself up on his elbow. “It’s…what if she eventually does something that scares you…or hurts the baby…even if it’s years from now?”
“We’ll deal with it—“
“Sh-she never meant to be violent,” he says as if he didn’t hear my last interjection. “But on occasion…”
His voice trails and he stares down at the sliver of fabric between us.
I place my hand on his cheek. “Eventually you’re going to have to tell me the bad stuff…if we’re going to make all of this work you have to trust that I can handle it. Yeah…I’ll probably get angry or sad, but the point is we’re angry and sad together. We’re not going to survive if we keep things from each other and I want this to work.”
He brushes my bangs out of my face and then kisses my forehead.
“I know…” he sighs. “S-so do I.”
He shifts, so that instead of me cradling him, he’s holding me; as much as my current condition allows anyway.
“I don’t even really know where to start,” he says.
“I’m not expecting some detailed, chronological retelling of your childhood, Bobby,” I say. “I just want to know what you’re thinking about…I know there’s something specific that happened that made you so worried.”
“It-it’s a lot of things. For as long as I can remember I’ve spent all my time with her gauging where her mood was going. As a kid…when I was off…it…it was rough,” he says.
My hand ventures and my fingers link with his, hoping it will be enough of an encouragement.
“Wh-when I was seven…my father had been gone for a couple days…without a word an-and I could see her getting agitated, but I didn’t understand then. See before then her delusions were like games to me…I-I thought she was playing with us…” his voice trails and I feel him tense slightly.
I rest my head on his shoulder and run my thumb along his forefinger; back and forth.
“I remember she was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking out the window…i-it over looked the street…and she was mumbling and crying something like ‘they took him away.’ Looking back sh-she may have meant the other women or something she dreamt up…I was never sure,” he says. “I-I wanted to comfort her…to make her happy again, but when I tried to hug her she pushed me away…and she…she laid into me. Hitting me…going on about how I had done it…I made him go away…”
My heart turns over for him, feeling guilty for having a generally happy childhood and a desperate need to give him a family he can depend on.
“Bobby, I—“
“Don’t say you’re sorry…I don’t want you pitying me.”
“I don’t pity you, but you can’t expect me not to feel…” I say. “I…I love you…that gives me the right to hurt with you.”
“I don’t want you to hurt,” he says. “I don’t want either of you to be…affected by her…”
“But we will be…because you are…that’s what being a family is about.”
I hear him swallow and then he kisses my hair.
“I-I guess I never had much of a family…”
“I know, but now you do,” I say and then feel him hold me a little tighter. “We both have a second chance at something here…”
“You promise you won’t let me fuck it up?”
I snort, because I know he is at least partially teasing.
“As long as you make sure I don’t.”
He smiles and raises his hand to cradle my cheek, this thumb lightly caressing the bone and I respond with a similar move, cupping his neck and pulled his lips down to mine.
We are lost in our explorations until I burst into laughter as our daughter begins to swim and pace inside me. His soft laughs join mine and he moves his hand to rest on my stomach.
“Not even born yet and she’s already finding ways to interrupt us,” I say and lay my hand over his.
I relax against him again and close my eyes, while he draws small circles on my stomach, calming both me and our daughter and lulling us to sleep.
Part One: Getting There
This was his idea.
He’s spent the better part of two months coming up with excuses so he can retract his invitation. She’s been really paranoid about new people recently; Dr. Shimo says her delusions have increased; she’s still getting use to the new medications.
Bullshit.
He’s finally run out of excuses and as I guide the car onto the interstate I watch him from the corner of my eye. He’s unusually quiet and his leg keeps bobbing up and down. I swear he’s making the whole car shake and I’m on the verge of threatening to cut the damn thing off.
He only speaks to give me directions and mostly just stares out the window.
Why does this have to be so difficult?
I’m just meeting the mother of the man whose child I am having. Sounds simple, right?
Well, maybe not completely simple.
We are cops, and not just cops, but partners (well were partners), his mother’s schizophrenic, we’ve only been together (romantically) for a year and I’m seven months pregnant (I’m sure you can do the math).
Not exactly where either of us thought we would be a year ago, but here we are and even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming he’s going to be happy about this.
I think most of him is, but he just doesn’t know what to do with this: having someone else to share in his life.
Oh, Jesus, now he’s tapping his finger and bobbing his knee.
I swear to God, “Bobby!”
“What?” he asks, his neck snapping toward me.
“Can you please stop fidgeting?”
He sighs and runs a hand down his face.
“No,” he shrugs.
I’ll never quiet understand how a six foot four, forty year old man can look and sound like such a little boy.
“I can tell right now we are never taking long family road trips.”
“Look I’m sorry all right…”
“Can you at least talk to me…drown out the noise…something”
“What do you want me to talk about?”
What does he think I want him to talk about?
“Maybe why you can’t sit still…why you even invited me in the first place?”
I feel him thinking as I hear him shift in the seat and I realize he has partially turned toward me.
He still doesn’t speak, but I know he’s trying to figure out the right words.
If one thing is true about Robert Goren it’s that everything he says he says with purpose.
“My…my mom doesn’t have the best track record when…when it comes to meeting my girlfriends,” he says.
“She’s not going to scare me away.”
He shakes his head. “She may call you things…she can catch you off guard…it can be very startling if you’re not use to it…”
“Bobby, I worked Vice for four years…I’ve been called just about everything in the book…”
He’s quiet again, staring out the window.
This is the dance we do. He gives a little, decides it’s too much and begins to retreat again. We get so close, so many times, to being a whole working entity that it’s infuriating.
Maybe it’s not worth it.
Maybe it would have been better, easier, if I had never knocked on his apartment door that night; if we had worked the rest of our partnership swimming in what ifs.
But then I wouldn’t have this little girl growing inside me; a little girl I have fallen desperately in love with and I know it’s all because of one knock on one door.
When I was very little I always got very afraid when my parents argued. One time my mom found me crying at the foot of the stairs, after dad stormed out to the garage, and she cradled me like an infant in her arms. In my five year old mind, fights meant mommy and daddy didn’t love each other, because love wasn’t supposed to be hard work. Then she said to me, “Life isn’t about easy; it’s about fighting.”
You fight for the things you care about; the things that are worth the sacrifices.
“Eames,” his soft voice cuts through my thoughts and I realize I’m on the verge of tears.
Maybe he noticed, hell he probably just noticed a change in my breathing.
“Yeah?” I reply, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
“I do want you with me today…it’s just…everything with my mom…can be…unpredictable.”
“I understand that—“
“N-no you don’t,” He knows the comment pisses me off and raises a hand, asking for permission to explain. “One minute she’ll beg me for a grandchild and…and the next I’m the neglectful son who spends all his time with his girlfriend…”
He lets out a long sigh and we both know that he has only scratched the surface of the thoughts and fears rolling around his head.
“So, what?” I blurt, my mouth bubbling with annoyance and too many raw emotions to count.
Maybe I can just blame the pregnancy hormones. “What are you so afraid of?”
He scoffs and leans back in his seat. He’s annoyed now too; good.
He’s used to me giving him his space when he’s like this, knowing that eventually he’ll come back to me. Well I don’t feel like waiting right now. I’m tired and fat and I don’t feel like his carry the world on my shoulders bullshit.
“I’m afraid of what you’ll see,” he says so softly I’m not sure if I just imagined it.
“I see horrible things everyday…you’re going to have to be a little less cryptic…”
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.
“I don’t want…” his voice trails followed by a long sigh. “I’m scared of what you’ll think…of…of her…me…”
I want to wrap myself around him and burn the knowledge into his skin that I’m not leaving, but since I’m driving that’s probably not my best course of action.
What can I say to get him to believe me?
Great, now the baby’s getting restless too. Only his child would figure out a way to pace while still in the womb.
I grab his hand, tugging him out of his corner, and place his palm flat against my belly. I clamp my hand over his and feel the faint roaming kicks through his skin.
Do you see now? Do you see why I’m not running away from this despite every complication that might prove it to be the wiser, easier, choice?
I remove my hand to navigate a turn, but am washed with relief when his remains on my stomach.
“I get that this is hard for you…I do…but can you just have a little faith in me—“
“I do, Eames—“
“It doesn’t seem that way…it seems like you’re still waiting for me to run the other way…”
His thumb moves against my stomach in a slow sweeping motion and I hear him sigh.
“I…I know…you’re not going to run away from this…from me,” he says. “But…a-a part of me still thinks maybe…you should.”
I don’t know whether to scream at him out of frustration or cry for the broken hearted little boy, who never got a chance to be a little boy.
“Well, you’re lucky I don’t give a damn about what you think.”
I hear him snort and see the first genuine smile I’ve seen in days.
He leans his chin against my shoulder and lightly kisses the fabric of my hoodie.
“I know I’m not making this easy…but visiting my mom is stressful anyway…and having you with me just adds more things to worry about…to keep in mind…can you please just drop this for now? Tonight…we can talk about it…however much you want…but right now I just need you to let me…freak out.”
I glance at him briefly and see the sincerity in his chocolate eyes.
I sigh. “Okay, I’ll drop it for now, but promise we will talk about it…everything…later.”
“I promise,” he nods.
I nod back and return my attention back to the road. He kisses my temple before retreating back to his corner, but he leaves his arm stretched across the space between us and his fingers
draw circles in my stomach.
Part Two: Maneuvering
He’s still fidgety as he leads me into the facility.
It’s not exactly what I was expecting, though I guess I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s warmer than any other hospital or nursing home I’ve visited and looks as if the staff actually puts forth the effort to make it homey.
There’s an older black nurse at the sign-in desk, who gives Bobby a warm smile and me a pleasantly surprised look as we continue on.
His tension seems to only be noticeable to me and I am trying hard to ignore it as my own nerves are starting to bubble up in my stomach.
Naturally I want his mother to like me, but I also have no idea how to get her to do so. Joe’s mom and I never got along, but I at least knew how to communicate with her.
The first time I visited my grandmother in the nursing home as a kid, I learned I’m not very good at dealing with sick people or hospitals. First that sterile smell clogs your head and then you have no idea what’s okay to say and what isn’t. Do you address the issue head on? Do you ignore it completely like some stray cat you don’t want to get stuck feeding?
If only they made etiquette books on how to meet your boyfriend’s schizophrenic mother.
He stops abruptly and I realize we are standing outside her door.
“I…uh…I’m just going to go in first and let her know…you’re here,” he says.
I nod. “Okay…I’ll be right here.”
He nods back and then softly knocks before disappearing behind the beige door.
I lean against the rose colored wallpaper and find my hand resting on my stomach. Beneath my palm I can feel our daughter restlessly waiting. She’s probably going to be just as perceptive as her father and can feel the tension radiating off of us.
I take in a deep breath, willing both her and me to settle.
“Eames,” Bobby says, poking his head back into the hallway.
He holds the door open for me and I walk in to find Frances Goren sitting primly on a small sofa. She keeps her chin high and her lips thinly pressed as she studies me with large dark eyes.
So that’s where Bobby gets that look.
“See, I told you,” Frances says, as Bobby makes his way between where I stand and she sits. “I make her uncomfortable.”
Well, I can see this is going to go brilliantly.
“Mom…”
“Probably all those stories you’ve told her about me,” Frances said.
“He hasn’t…” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m over stepping my boundaries. “…told me many stories.”
Frances nods tensely. “He’s always been very secretive. Even as a kid he would never bring people to meet his crazy mother.”
Bobby rubs a hand down his face and I don’t know whether to speak or wait for them to work it out, but then she continues.
“He didn’t bother telling me about you until after you got yourself pregnant.”
“Mom, please.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly do it by myself,” I mutter, and then remember that this isn’t my family and snide comments may not be treated the same as hugs and kisses.
She watches me with cool eyes and I have no idea what she might be thinking of me. For some reason I didn’t think about the fact that she might look down on me for getting pregnant five months into a relationship.
“In my day, it was always the woman’s responsibility,” she exaggerates her point by pressing her forefinger into her knee and pauses for a long moment as she watches the tip of her finger bend. “Well come here and let me get a look at you. If we can trust these doctors then I’m not contagious.”
She gestures to me as if coming out of a daze and pats the seat beside her.
I don’t look at Bobby as I pass him, since I know the uncertainty in my eyes will only exacerbate his tension.
From my seat beside her I can see the two book cases on the wall by the door and a simply framed picture of a young Bobby Goren right after he joined the army.
Some of the books look very old and well read, ranging from a variety of authors and eras. The shelves look as if they might bust at the seams, but they still don’t look full enough, judging from what Bobby has told me about her love of literature.
“Bobby,” Frances says as she grabs and then tugs on his wrist until he kneels in front of her. “I finished that copy of Mrs. Dalloway you brought, but I need you to find To the Lighthouse.”
“You have To the Lighthouse.”
Frances shakes her head and says, “Well then someone took it. You need to find it.”
Bobby sighs. “You probably gave it to Mrs. Rogers down the hall…she’s always barrowing books from you.”
“She takes them,” she says firmly.
“You always say that and she always brings them back,” Bobby says.
“Don’t patronize,” Frances says and then abruptly turns toward me. “He always does this…acts like I don’t know what’s going on.”
I have no idea how to respond to the scene in front of me; unsure if I should remain an outsider looking in or if I’m allowed to participate.
“I’m not…” Bobby tries to defend himself.
“You go find it then,” Frances says.
“Mom—“
“Go on,” she says, shooing him with a wave of her hand.
Bobby glances at me with worried eyes.
I nod, hoping to reassure him. “We’ll be fine.”
He gives each of us one last look before reluctantly turning and heading out the door.
“He told me it’s a girl,” she says with her face just as stoic and unreadable as when I walked in.
“It is,” I say.
“He gave me one of the sonograms a few weeks ago,” she pulls the now worn picture out of the pocket of her house coat as she speaks. “I think he was keeping it in his breast pocket.”
I can’t help but smile at the thought as she passes me the picture. It is over a month old, but looks like it has been handled for years. I’m not sure if it is from her hands or his, though it’s probably both. It makes sense that Bobby would be just as secretive about his excitement as he is about his fears.
“I didn’t realize he had this,” I say as I pass it back to her.
“He loves you,” she says, but keeps her eyes on the picture. “I’ve never seen him as relaxed as he’s been this past year.”
“If you call this relaxed,” I snort.
She looks as me rather startled and I’m scared I’ve said the wrong thing, but then she lets out a small laugh.
“He was always very worrisome.” A sadness that I’ve glanced a few times in Bobby’s eyes creeps into hers and she turns her face away from me. “Though I don’t guess I gave him much choice in that. You make him happy.”
I part of me knows he is, but the other part of me is slightly jealous that I never seem to get to see it.
“You will let me see her on occasion, I hope,” she says.
It takes a minute for what she’s asking me to register and the truth is I never really gave it any thought. It has never been a necessary debate in my family as to whether or not it’s safe for the children to see their grandparents.
“Of course.”
“Well, make sure Bobby brings her…he’ll be worried how I might act,” she says. “I’m sure he was worried about what I might say to you.”
I can’t help but smile a little at her candor.
“He’s been driving me crazy all week,” I say with a laugh.
She nods, still looking at the sonogram.
“He’s spent his whole life worrying about everyone but himself…he doesn’t know any other way to be.”
I can feel my eyes misting over. The annoyed part of me that’s tired of being this touchy feely, emotional person wants this whole pregnancy thing to be done with, but another part brings my hand to my stomach in a slow, steady caress, needing to feel close to him at that moment.
All I want to do is hug this woman who made this amazing man and for acknowledging how hard it’s been for him. I can’t help but wonder if he knows that somewhere in her mind she understands how much he’s sacrificed.
“I know,” I finally manage to say after swallowing the threat of tears.
Bobby comes back into the room with the same perfect timing we had when working over a suspect. I half wonder if he wasn’t outside listening to us.
He holds the book up so his mother can see and then places it back on the shelf in a small vacant slit.
“Well did she have it?” Frances asks.
Bobby nods.
“I told you she took it.”
Bobby nods again, but this time also sighs and I can tell that he just doesn’t want to argue with her.
“What have you two been talking about?” he asks as he pulls a rocking chair up to sit in front of us.
“We can have our secrets too,” Frances says. “Now, you two come have dinner with me and tell me more about my grandchild.”
She begins to push herself up from the sofa and Bobby rises to help, but she lightly bats him away.
I reach for his hand and he smiles down at me before helping me to my feet. I know he expects me to let go and I can tell he’s surprised when I don’t, but, whether we’re both capable of admitting it or not, we both need the comfort.
Frances tugs on his other arm and we follow her hand in hand.
Part Three: Slowing Down
I pass him the keys as we walk back to the car in the half moonlight and he turns with a startled look.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah…just tired. This kid is sucking up all my energy.”
I give him a tired smile as he opens the passenger side door and I can feel him studying me. Most of his tension is gone, but there is still some uncertainty in his eyes.
“Don’t be offended if I fall asleep on the way,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I won’t.”
“Well enjoy the time by yourself, cause you’re not getting out of talking to me,” I say as I climb in and then look up at him.
He smiles faintly, nodding, and closes the door.
I don’t remember the ride as I am true to my word and dose on and off most of the way, occasionally coherent enough to catch a rode sign.
The next thing that I remember, that I’m sure isn’t a dream, is the feel of Bobby’s fingers against my cheek. I lean toward the sensation and slowly open my eyes to find him watching me with a small smile.
“We’re home,” he says.
I look up to find that we’re parked in my driveway and I smile as it dawns on me that he used the term “we.”
“I guess we should go inside,” I say.
“There are more comfortable places to sleep inside,” he says.
I nod with a soft chuckle and we begin going through the motions of getting into my house.
I head straight for the bathroom and slip into my most comfortable pajamas before washing my face and then brushing my teeth.
I know better than to push him into talking and trust that he will honor his earlier promise, so I don’t venture back out to the living room or kitchen, but go straight to my bed.
I lie on my back, because it’s starting to be the only comfortable position, with multiple pillows supporting me and stare down at my swollen belly.
“I don’t know about you, little one, but I think that went pretty well,” I say. “I think she’s very excited to meet you.”
“She is,” I hear Bobby’s voice in the doorway and I smile as I turn to look at him. “She may not always seem like it…but she is.”
We just watch each other for a minute and I can feel him hesitating to join me. He looks more relaxed in his worn sweats and T-shirt, but I also know how truly talented he is at hiding what he doesn’t want to be seen.
“You just going to hover there all night?” I ask.
He pushes himself off the door frame and eases down beside me. I’m a little surprised when he lays his head above my breast and places his hand on top of my stomach. My hand seems to automatically find its way into his hair and I make small circles with my finger tips.
“How is she doing?” he asks.
“Restless,” I say with a tired smile. “Like her father…”
“Sorry,” he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You know, there’s worst people she could end up like.”
He’s quiet and begins to pace with his hand, letting it roam around my stomach.
“I…I hope she’s like you…” he finally says.
I snort. “You may regret that when she’s a teenager.”
He softly laughs and then leans his face closer to the top of my stomach.
“Go easy on your mom, okay?” he whispers. “She has enough to deal with putting up with me.”
He lays his head back down on my chest, while his fingers continue to wander the span of my stomach and I think back to the worn sonogram Frances passed to me earlier. I wonder how many times he privately stared at the little blur of our daughter and what he might have thought. Did he make promises or give voice to all the fears he will only give me a little insight on?
Or maybe he actually said he was happy, though I don’t guess I readily tell him all the things I’ve been feeling either.
“Bobby?”
“Hmm?”
“You…you know I’m happy, don’t you?”
His hesitation tells me it wasn’t the question he was expecting and after a beat he looks up at me with a puzzled, almost worried look.
“I…I know she makes you happy,” he says.
I shake my head. “No…I don’t mean her…I mean you,” I say, a little annoyed at how small and tentative my voice seems to sound. “Do you know how happy you make me?”
He stares at me, still perplexed. “I…I hope I do…”
“You do…you have no idea what you’ve given me,” I say, but can’t look him in the eyes when I do. It’s too true and too emotional for me not to feel exposed and a little embarrassed. “I had given up…I didn’t think I had, but I did.”
I feel his palm against my cheek as he tilts my head up, forcing me to look at him.
“A-all I want is…is to make you an-and her…happy…to…to deserve you.”
“You do…are you? Are you happy?”
He looks almost wounded by the question.
“Of course I am…I…I never meant to make you think I’m not…I-I know I haven’t been a prince through all this…” his voice trails as he looks down at my stomach. “…but the more I think of her the happier I am…it’s just I don’t really know what to do with that…”
I run a finger along his cheek, enjoying the feel of the barely there, but still scratchy stubble.
“Just accept it,” I say softly.
He gave an amused but still unsure smile.
“Wish it was that easy,” he says.
I feel the weight of his head once again, this time a little higher on my shoulder and his fingers resume their pacing across my abdomen.
“But it did go well today, didn’t it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, but there is a hint of reservations in his tone.
“But…”
He sighs. “But…it was just a few hours…you can’t know for sure that next time something won’t go wrong…”
“So it goes wrong…what’s the worst that could happen?”
He’s quiet, though I know that in his mind he’s gone to a very specific place and time, one that he’s scared to open to me.
“Bobby, I know she can’t help the way she is—“
“It’s not just that,” he says with a huff and pulls away, propping himself up on his elbow. “It’s…what if she eventually does something that scares you…or hurts the baby…even if it’s years from now?”
“We’ll deal with it—“
“Sh-she never meant to be violent,” he says as if he didn’t hear my last interjection. “But on occasion…”
His voice trails and he stares down at the sliver of fabric between us.
I place my hand on his cheek. “Eventually you’re going to have to tell me the bad stuff…if we’re going to make all of this work you have to trust that I can handle it. Yeah…I’ll probably get angry or sad, but the point is we’re angry and sad together. We’re not going to survive if we keep things from each other and I want this to work.”
He brushes my bangs out of my face and then kisses my forehead.
“I know…” he sighs. “S-so do I.”
He shifts, so that instead of me cradling him, he’s holding me; as much as my current condition allows anyway.
“I don’t even really know where to start,” he says.
“I’m not expecting some detailed, chronological retelling of your childhood, Bobby,” I say. “I just want to know what you’re thinking about…I know there’s something specific that happened that made you so worried.”
“It-it’s a lot of things. For as long as I can remember I’ve spent all my time with her gauging where her mood was going. As a kid…when I was off…it…it was rough,” he says.
My hand ventures and my fingers link with his, hoping it will be enough of an encouragement.
“Wh-when I was seven…my father had been gone for a couple days…without a word an-and I could see her getting agitated, but I didn’t understand then. See before then her delusions were like games to me…I-I thought she was playing with us…” his voice trails and I feel him tense slightly.
I rest my head on his shoulder and run my thumb along his forefinger; back and forth.
“I remember she was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking out the window…i-it over looked the street…and she was mumbling and crying something like ‘they took him away.’ Looking back sh-she may have meant the other women or something she dreamt up…I was never sure,” he says. “I-I wanted to comfort her…to make her happy again, but when I tried to hug her she pushed me away…and she…she laid into me. Hitting me…going on about how I had done it…I made him go away…”
My heart turns over for him, feeling guilty for having a generally happy childhood and a desperate need to give him a family he can depend on.
“Bobby, I—“
“Don’t say you’re sorry…I don’t want you pitying me.”
“I don’t pity you, but you can’t expect me not to feel…” I say. “I…I love you…that gives me the right to hurt with you.”
“I don’t want you to hurt,” he says. “I don’t want either of you to be…affected by her…”
“But we will be…because you are…that’s what being a family is about.”
I hear him swallow and then he kisses my hair.
“I-I guess I never had much of a family…”
“I know, but now you do,” I say and then feel him hold me a little tighter. “We both have a second chance at something here…”
“You promise you won’t let me fuck it up?”
I snort, because I know he is at least partially teasing.
“As long as you make sure I don’t.”
He smiles and raises his hand to cradle my cheek, this thumb lightly caressing the bone and I respond with a similar move, cupping his neck and pulled his lips down to mine.
We are lost in our explorations until I burst into laughter as our daughter begins to swim and pace inside me. His soft laughs join mine and he moves his hand to rest on my stomach.
“Not even born yet and she’s already finding ways to interrupt us,” I say and lay my hand over his.
I relax against him again and close my eyes, while he draws small circles on my stomach, calming both me and our daughter and lulling us to sleep.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Beginnings -- Chapter 7
Two days later...
Eames lay on the exam table and watched Goren pace as he read the numerous pamphlets and posters that littered the exam room. Over the past couple of months he had gotten better at hiding what was bothering him, or maybe it was just because she hadn’t since much of him, but she could still see it there in moments he didn’t think she was looking.
“Bobby?”
“Hmm?” he replied, but continued to pace and read.
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Goren?”
He turned to look at her. “What?”
“Can you please sit? You’re making me queasy.”
He sighed and sat on a stool by her left side.
“Sorry.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
He continued to tap his fingers on his knees until there was a soft knock on the door. A moment later a red headed woman in her early forties entered the room with a smile and a manila file.
“Hello Alex,” the doctor said, then noticed Goren. “You must be the allusive father.”
Her tone was teasing, but Eames didn’t miss the slight grimace that went through Goren as he extended his hand to her.
“Bobby Goren.”
“It’s a pleasure to put a face to the name. Kate Wesson,” she said as she shook his hand, and then turned her attention to Eames. “So how are you feeling?”
“Fine…great even.”
Kate move to the right side of Eames and rolled up the hem of her shirt to expose the bump in her stomach. Goren watched Kate’s fine fingers push and prod at Eames’ flesh.
“And are you getting enough sleep?” Kate asked.
“Seven hours…at least.”
“Uh-huh,” Kate said as she began to thumb through Eames’ file. “Well everything looks pretty good, except your iron is a little lower than I’d like it to be. Nothing too serious, but you need to make sure your taking your vitamins, getting enough protein, and sleep. Eight hours…at least.”
“I’ll…work on it,” Eames said with a coy smile.
Kate returned the smile and nodded.
“All right, you ready to see the kid?”
“Sure,” Eames said.
Goren didn’t miss the conspirator-like smiles that passed between the two women.
He noted every preparation Kate made: the squish of clear jelly, the white flashlight like instrument pressed to Eames’ belly and then the throb of a tiny heartbeat.
Goren’s eyes shifted immediately to the monitor at the foot of the exam table and softened with awe. He propped an elbow up on the exam table and brushed a finger across his lips as he watched the shadowy figure.
He pointed toward the screen. “That…that’s the heart rate?”
Kate nodded and looked more closely at the screen.
“Her heart rate and it’s strong.”
Goren remained dazed as Kate turned off the machine and cleaned up Eames.
“Be sure to schedule your next appointment with the receptionist before you leave. They’ll also have a picture of the little one for you,” Kate said pulling down Eames’ shirt.
“Thanks Kate.”
“It was a pleasure, Alex,” Kate said. “And nice meeting you detective.”
Kate nodded her goodbyes and left them alone.
Eames began to sit up and Goren stood to help as she grinned up at him. He twined his fingers with hers and stepped back to study her.
He smirked. “You…you played me. You knew…this would make it…her…real to me.
Her grin grew wider.
“I have no idea what your talking about,” she said, trying to look innocent as a smirk crossed her lips.
He smiled and then leaned to kiss her forehead.
“Would it be all right if I stayed at your place tonight?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll probably be late.”
Eames nodded. “I have a spare key I can give you.”
Goren nodded and brushed his lips against hers.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was almost eleven before she heard her front door open and then lock again.
Eames lay on her side, faking sleep, and listened to his surprisingly light foot falls come down the hall to her bedroom.
She stayed still while he stripped down to his boxers and felt the bed shift as he crawled in beside her. He rolled over to face her and she fought back a smile, but lost.
“I already knew were awake,” he said.
“I would have had you if not for the smile.”
“It wasn’t the smile…you’re breathing…its different when you’re asleep. It’s softer…and you occasionally whistle through your right nostril.”
“I do not,” she looked up at him half amused and half disturbed.
“Y-yes you do,” he smiled and began to play with the strap on her tank top.
His fingers traveled down her arm until his palm rested flat on her belly. She placed a hand over his and he caught sight of her eyes. There was a softness in them mixed with happiness and sadness that he had never seen before.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing…it just…that’s the first time you’ve done that,” she said as she directed her eyes down at their hands resting on her stomach.
She regretted her words as she saw the fear and guilt creep back into his eyes.
Silently she pleaded, please don’t retreat again. Not after we just got so close.
“I…” he started to speak, but she could see him fighting for the right thing to say. “I wanted to for awhile…but I…I couldn’t.” He let out a long sigh. “I really don’t want to screw this up.”
There it was the truth she had been waiting for.
“Bob—“
“I don’t want to screw her up, or you. You’re probably the longest relationship I’ve ever had and that’s not even counting the months we’ve been a couple…” he stared blankly at their hands as he continued to ramble. “…and now that I think about it I, whether consciously or not, I made sure that they wouldn’t last. I worked too much or didn’t share enough…and not because I didn’t want a family, but because I didn’t think I should have one. The way I grew up…I was always waiting for the bottom to fall out…I never wanted my children to feel that.”
Eames grasped his cheeks in her hands and forced him to look at her.
“She won’t,” Eames said with conviction, hoping to pour it out through her palms and into his skin.
“I don’t know how to be a father, Eames. At best my father ignored me—“
“What, you think the rest of us have some secret manual that’s been hidden from you?” she said with a faint laugh. “Listen to me. First off, thank you for finally telling me all this. We can work with this; worked past it…and secondly there is no one else I would feel safer leaving my child with.”
He knew she meant it and for the first time in a long time he felt safe.
He moved his hands up to cradle her neck and he had to kiss her. She welcomed his bottom lip between hers and felt his tongue glide against her top lip. They massaged and sucked at each other until finally they broke and rested their foreheads together.
He studied her closed eyes and sleepy smile.
“Eames?”
“Hmm?”
“Um…do you want to come with me sometime…to meet my mom?”
Her eyes shot open and she pulled her head back slightly.
“Really?”
“I…uh…would call ahead first…I don’t want you to meet her when she’d having a bad day, but…yes.”
“I would like that.”
She moved closer and pulled his lips back to hers.
“Aren’t you suppose to sleep,” he teased against her mouth.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Sleep can wait.”
She returned her attention back to his mouth and his hands began to roam.
Eames lay on the exam table and watched Goren pace as he read the numerous pamphlets and posters that littered the exam room. Over the past couple of months he had gotten better at hiding what was bothering him, or maybe it was just because she hadn’t since much of him, but she could still see it there in moments he didn’t think she was looking.
“Bobby?”
“Hmm?” he replied, but continued to pace and read.
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Goren?”
He turned to look at her. “What?”
“Can you please sit? You’re making me queasy.”
He sighed and sat on a stool by her left side.
“Sorry.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
He continued to tap his fingers on his knees until there was a soft knock on the door. A moment later a red headed woman in her early forties entered the room with a smile and a manila file.
“Hello Alex,” the doctor said, then noticed Goren. “You must be the allusive father.”
Her tone was teasing, but Eames didn’t miss the slight grimace that went through Goren as he extended his hand to her.
“Bobby Goren.”
“It’s a pleasure to put a face to the name. Kate Wesson,” she said as she shook his hand, and then turned her attention to Eames. “So how are you feeling?”
“Fine…great even.”
Kate move to the right side of Eames and rolled up the hem of her shirt to expose the bump in her stomach. Goren watched Kate’s fine fingers push and prod at Eames’ flesh.
“And are you getting enough sleep?” Kate asked.
“Seven hours…at least.”
“Uh-huh,” Kate said as she began to thumb through Eames’ file. “Well everything looks pretty good, except your iron is a little lower than I’d like it to be. Nothing too serious, but you need to make sure your taking your vitamins, getting enough protein, and sleep. Eight hours…at least.”
“I’ll…work on it,” Eames said with a coy smile.
Kate returned the smile and nodded.
“All right, you ready to see the kid?”
“Sure,” Eames said.
Goren didn’t miss the conspirator-like smiles that passed between the two women.
He noted every preparation Kate made: the squish of clear jelly, the white flashlight like instrument pressed to Eames’ belly and then the throb of a tiny heartbeat.
Goren’s eyes shifted immediately to the monitor at the foot of the exam table and softened with awe. He propped an elbow up on the exam table and brushed a finger across his lips as he watched the shadowy figure.
He pointed toward the screen. “That…that’s the heart rate?”
Kate nodded and looked more closely at the screen.
“Her heart rate and it’s strong.”
Goren remained dazed as Kate turned off the machine and cleaned up Eames.
“Be sure to schedule your next appointment with the receptionist before you leave. They’ll also have a picture of the little one for you,” Kate said pulling down Eames’ shirt.
“Thanks Kate.”
“It was a pleasure, Alex,” Kate said. “And nice meeting you detective.”
Kate nodded her goodbyes and left them alone.
Eames began to sit up and Goren stood to help as she grinned up at him. He twined his fingers with hers and stepped back to study her.
He smirked. “You…you played me. You knew…this would make it…her…real to me.
Her grin grew wider.
“I have no idea what your talking about,” she said, trying to look innocent as a smirk crossed her lips.
He smiled and then leaned to kiss her forehead.
“Would it be all right if I stayed at your place tonight?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll probably be late.”
Eames nodded. “I have a spare key I can give you.”
Goren nodded and brushed his lips against hers.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was almost eleven before she heard her front door open and then lock again.
Eames lay on her side, faking sleep, and listened to his surprisingly light foot falls come down the hall to her bedroom.
She stayed still while he stripped down to his boxers and felt the bed shift as he crawled in beside her. He rolled over to face her and she fought back a smile, but lost.
“I already knew were awake,” he said.
“I would have had you if not for the smile.”
“It wasn’t the smile…you’re breathing…its different when you’re asleep. It’s softer…and you occasionally whistle through your right nostril.”
“I do not,” she looked up at him half amused and half disturbed.
“Y-yes you do,” he smiled and began to play with the strap on her tank top.
His fingers traveled down her arm until his palm rested flat on her belly. She placed a hand over his and he caught sight of her eyes. There was a softness in them mixed with happiness and sadness that he had never seen before.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing…it just…that’s the first time you’ve done that,” she said as she directed her eyes down at their hands resting on her stomach.
She regretted her words as she saw the fear and guilt creep back into his eyes.
Silently she pleaded, please don’t retreat again. Not after we just got so close.
“I…” he started to speak, but she could see him fighting for the right thing to say. “I wanted to for awhile…but I…I couldn’t.” He let out a long sigh. “I really don’t want to screw this up.”
There it was the truth she had been waiting for.
“Bob—“
“I don’t want to screw her up, or you. You’re probably the longest relationship I’ve ever had and that’s not even counting the months we’ve been a couple…” he stared blankly at their hands as he continued to ramble. “…and now that I think about it I, whether consciously or not, I made sure that they wouldn’t last. I worked too much or didn’t share enough…and not because I didn’t want a family, but because I didn’t think I should have one. The way I grew up…I was always waiting for the bottom to fall out…I never wanted my children to feel that.”
Eames grasped his cheeks in her hands and forced him to look at her.
“She won’t,” Eames said with conviction, hoping to pour it out through her palms and into his skin.
“I don’t know how to be a father, Eames. At best my father ignored me—“
“What, you think the rest of us have some secret manual that’s been hidden from you?” she said with a faint laugh. “Listen to me. First off, thank you for finally telling me all this. We can work with this; worked past it…and secondly there is no one else I would feel safer leaving my child with.”
He knew she meant it and for the first time in a long time he felt safe.
He moved his hands up to cradle her neck and he had to kiss her. She welcomed his bottom lip between hers and felt his tongue glide against her top lip. They massaged and sucked at each other until finally they broke and rested their foreheads together.
He studied her closed eyes and sleepy smile.
“Eames?”
“Hmm?”
“Um…do you want to come with me sometime…to meet my mom?”
Her eyes shot open and she pulled her head back slightly.
“Really?”
“I…uh…would call ahead first…I don’t want you to meet her when she’d having a bad day, but…yes.”
“I would like that.”
She moved closer and pulled his lips back to hers.
“Aren’t you suppose to sleep,” he teased against her mouth.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Sleep can wait.”
She returned her attention back to his mouth and his hands began to roam.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Beginnings -- Chapter 6
At five months pregnant...
Goren and Eames sat across from each other in a small deli across from 1PP and quietly ate their sandwiches.
She could see is mind racing with theories about his latest case despite his stillness. The investigation had been on going for a couple of weeks now and she hadn’t seen much of him since it started.
“Are you and Logan staying out of trouble?” she asked.
He looked up at her and faintly smiled.
“I think so…Deakins may disagree.”
“Yeah, I heard he got a little rough with one of the kids you two picked up.”
Goren nodded, fighting annoyance and amusement.
“We picked them up at a pool hall…and one started to resist…so Logan pinned him to the wall with a cue stick,” Goren said. “But in some of the interviews…he acted like their best friend…I haven’t quiet figured him out yet. I still feel like I have to over explain myself…how are you and Barek getting along?”
“Good…I’m a little tired of the Cagney and Lacey comments, but it’s good,” she said. “She kind of reminds me of you…you know, but more subdued.”
He gave her the first toothy smile she had seen in a while.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good…real good,” she said and absently stroked her growing belly. “Um…I have a doctor’s appointment Friday morning at eight. I was wondering if you want to come?”
“Uh…” his mouth gaped open like a dear in headlights. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she nodded confused by his surprise.
“It’s just you’ve never asked me to go with you before.”
“Well, I kind of figured you knew there was an open invitation…it is your kid too.”
“I know.”
“I know this case has you busy, so if you can’t it’s—“
“I would like to go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Okay…I can pick you up at your apartment.”
Goren nodded. “Okay.”
Goren and Eames sat across from each other in a small deli across from 1PP and quietly ate their sandwiches.
She could see is mind racing with theories about his latest case despite his stillness. The investigation had been on going for a couple of weeks now and she hadn’t seen much of him since it started.
“Are you and Logan staying out of trouble?” she asked.
He looked up at her and faintly smiled.
“I think so…Deakins may disagree.”
“Yeah, I heard he got a little rough with one of the kids you two picked up.”
Goren nodded, fighting annoyance and amusement.
“We picked them up at a pool hall…and one started to resist…so Logan pinned him to the wall with a cue stick,” Goren said. “But in some of the interviews…he acted like their best friend…I haven’t quiet figured him out yet. I still feel like I have to over explain myself…how are you and Barek getting along?”
“Good…I’m a little tired of the Cagney and Lacey comments, but it’s good,” she said. “She kind of reminds me of you…you know, but more subdued.”
He gave her the first toothy smile she had seen in a while.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good…real good,” she said and absently stroked her growing belly. “Um…I have a doctor’s appointment Friday morning at eight. I was wondering if you want to come?”
“Uh…” his mouth gaped open like a dear in headlights. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she nodded confused by his surprise.
“It’s just you’ve never asked me to go with you before.”
“Well, I kind of figured you knew there was an open invitation…it is your kid too.”
“I know.”
“I know this case has you busy, so if you can’t it’s—“
“I would like to go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Okay…I can pick you up at your apartment.”
Goren nodded. “Okay.”
Beginnings -- Chapter 5
About two months later...
Eames entered Goren’s apartment and looked around at the dim lighting suspiciously, while the smell of marinara traveled to her nose.
The past month and a half they remained close, spending most of their days and nights together, but continued to dance around the elephant growing in Eames’ belly. They did manage to address it to her family, which for Goren ranked high with his other most uncomfortable moments. Her father was visibly worried and disappointed, but surprisingly Lucas, her older and favorite brother, came to their aid.
Eames leaned against the doorway into the kitchen and watched him as he finished a place setting, then lit a lantern, which she smirked at.
“Hot date?” she asked.
He turned and gave her that boyish smile that made her stomach rumble.
“There’s a slight possibility…but don’t tell my partner. I think she has a crush on me.”
Playful Goren she hadn’t seen since Nicole Wallace reappeared a couple months ago. Eames tried to convince herself it was Nicole’s fault for his short temper lately and not the fact that she had just told him he was going to be a father.
“Too bad for her,” she said as she walked toward him. “A lantern?”
“I…I don’t have candles,” he said and then gestured toward the pot cooling on the stove. “I made eggplant parmesan.”
It was one of her favorites and she was growing more suspicious.
“What’s all this for?”
He shrugged. “I know this case was…rough…I thought we both needed to unwind a little.”
“Have you been drinking?” she laughed.
He smiles. “Uh…no.”
“You just seem so calm.”
“Uh…cooking for some reason does that…”
“Well it smells good.”
He kissed her forehead and then moved to grab the pot.
“I called a lawyer friend of mine today,” he said as he placed the pot on the table. “He’s agreed to meet with Whitlock’s mother-in-law to help her sue for custody of Adam.”
She watched him as he dished out food onto their plates and found her lips curling upward with pride and affection.
She sat down next to him and they began to eat.
“What did he think her chances were?”
“He said it would be tough, but I told him both of us would be willing to testify for her…I didn’t think you would mind.”
“No, of course not. It’s good that you did that.”
“I hope so.” Goren said. “What did you do this afternoon?”
“Went and talked to an old friend,” she said casually.
He nodded and smiled, knowing she meant she went to Joe’s grave.
“Did he give you any insights?” he asked softly to hide the faint hint of jealousy he couldn’t control.
She nodded absently.
“Bobby, I need you to tell me what you’re thinking…just you, not what you think I want you to want.”
He sighed as he sat back in his chair and rubbed his fingers against his lips.
“I don’t know Eames…everything’s been so good since…since that first night. And not just personally…professionally we’ve been better than we ever were…and,” he voice trailed off as he played with the fraying fabric on his knee. “And I don’t want to lose that.”
“Neither do I,” Eames said, with a little more hostility than she intended.
“I know that—“
“But even if we do get split up that doesn’t mean things personally have to change. In fact it could be better…we could actually go out without worrying about who we might run into or who they might tell…maybe it’s a good thing that are hand is being forced.”
“I can’t believe how calm you’ve been about all this.”
“Well, one of us has to be…and I apparently drew the short straw.”
He sat up in his chair with irritation in his eyes that met hers.
“How’d you expect me to react? You drop this bomb in my lap that changes both of our lives…forever…and you—“
“You think you were the only one freaked out about this? Do you have any idea what went through my head when I found out? Of course not…cause you never asked…too wrapped up in being a selfish—“
“Hey! Don’t…you know you could have told me—“
“One of us had to keep it together and…I was scared too. Scared of how it would affect my career, ‘cause not only was I knocked up, but knocked up by partner, the reaction of my family, which wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, and you…that you would…”
Her voice trailed and she let out a long sigh, while watching his eyes study the food on is plate.
“That I would run away…” he said softly and rubbed a hand against his chin.
She nodded and took a deep breath to soften her voice. “But see eventually I wasn’t just holding it together…I really was calm and excited and…and I just knew…I knew it would be okay.”
“I want to feel that way,” he said as he caught her yes with his. “I do…I do love you and I want to believe you, but I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this.”
“Goren, you’re forty years old, if you’re not ready now, you’re never going to be,” Eames said, trying to keep her tone light. “Look, if you really don’t want this then tell me and I’ll go…clean break no questions asked, but if you’re just scared of what will happen if you allow yourself to want this, then stop pushing me away.”
He studied her with glassy eyes, and then leaned forward to twine his fingers with hers. The feel of her skin steadied him.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said finally. “The idea of you having…my child…is astounding and horrifying. There’s so much that could go wrong, but I’ll try…I can’t promise anything.”
“I’m not asking you to…I know we’re going about this ass backwards, but maybe it can work…and maybe it won’t, but this…us…it deserves a shot,” Eames said. “And…I love you too. Now let’s actually eat.”
Goren smiled and lightly brushed his lips to hers before returning to his plate.
Eames entered Goren’s apartment and looked around at the dim lighting suspiciously, while the smell of marinara traveled to her nose.
The past month and a half they remained close, spending most of their days and nights together, but continued to dance around the elephant growing in Eames’ belly. They did manage to address it to her family, which for Goren ranked high with his other most uncomfortable moments. Her father was visibly worried and disappointed, but surprisingly Lucas, her older and favorite brother, came to their aid.
Eames leaned against the doorway into the kitchen and watched him as he finished a place setting, then lit a lantern, which she smirked at.
“Hot date?” she asked.
He turned and gave her that boyish smile that made her stomach rumble.
“There’s a slight possibility…but don’t tell my partner. I think she has a crush on me.”
Playful Goren she hadn’t seen since Nicole Wallace reappeared a couple months ago. Eames tried to convince herself it was Nicole’s fault for his short temper lately and not the fact that she had just told him he was going to be a father.
“Too bad for her,” she said as she walked toward him. “A lantern?”
“I…I don’t have candles,” he said and then gestured toward the pot cooling on the stove. “I made eggplant parmesan.”
It was one of her favorites and she was growing more suspicious.
“What’s all this for?”
He shrugged. “I know this case was…rough…I thought we both needed to unwind a little.”
“Have you been drinking?” she laughed.
He smiles. “Uh…no.”
“You just seem so calm.”
“Uh…cooking for some reason does that…”
“Well it smells good.”
He kissed her forehead and then moved to grab the pot.
“I called a lawyer friend of mine today,” he said as he placed the pot on the table. “He’s agreed to meet with Whitlock’s mother-in-law to help her sue for custody of Adam.”
She watched him as he dished out food onto their plates and found her lips curling upward with pride and affection.
She sat down next to him and they began to eat.
“What did he think her chances were?”
“He said it would be tough, but I told him both of us would be willing to testify for her…I didn’t think you would mind.”
“No, of course not. It’s good that you did that.”
“I hope so.” Goren said. “What did you do this afternoon?”
“Went and talked to an old friend,” she said casually.
He nodded and smiled, knowing she meant she went to Joe’s grave.
“Did he give you any insights?” he asked softly to hide the faint hint of jealousy he couldn’t control.
She nodded absently.
“Bobby, I need you to tell me what you’re thinking…just you, not what you think I want you to want.”
He sighed as he sat back in his chair and rubbed his fingers against his lips.
“I don’t know Eames…everything’s been so good since…since that first night. And not just personally…professionally we’ve been better than we ever were…and,” he voice trailed off as he played with the fraying fabric on his knee. “And I don’t want to lose that.”
“Neither do I,” Eames said, with a little more hostility than she intended.
“I know that—“
“But even if we do get split up that doesn’t mean things personally have to change. In fact it could be better…we could actually go out without worrying about who we might run into or who they might tell…maybe it’s a good thing that are hand is being forced.”
“I can’t believe how calm you’ve been about all this.”
“Well, one of us has to be…and I apparently drew the short straw.”
He sat up in his chair with irritation in his eyes that met hers.
“How’d you expect me to react? You drop this bomb in my lap that changes both of our lives…forever…and you—“
“You think you were the only one freaked out about this? Do you have any idea what went through my head when I found out? Of course not…cause you never asked…too wrapped up in being a selfish—“
“Hey! Don’t…you know you could have told me—“
“One of us had to keep it together and…I was scared too. Scared of how it would affect my career, ‘cause not only was I knocked up, but knocked up by partner, the reaction of my family, which wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, and you…that you would…”
Her voice trailed and she let out a long sigh, while watching his eyes study the food on is plate.
“That I would run away…” he said softly and rubbed a hand against his chin.
She nodded and took a deep breath to soften her voice. “But see eventually I wasn’t just holding it together…I really was calm and excited and…and I just knew…I knew it would be okay.”
“I want to feel that way,” he said as he caught her yes with his. “I do…I do love you and I want to believe you, but I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this.”
“Goren, you’re forty years old, if you’re not ready now, you’re never going to be,” Eames said, trying to keep her tone light. “Look, if you really don’t want this then tell me and I’ll go…clean break no questions asked, but if you’re just scared of what will happen if you allow yourself to want this, then stop pushing me away.”
He studied her with glassy eyes, and then leaned forward to twine his fingers with hers. The feel of her skin steadied him.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said finally. “The idea of you having…my child…is astounding and horrifying. There’s so much that could go wrong, but I’ll try…I can’t promise anything.”
“I’m not asking you to…I know we’re going about this ass backwards, but maybe it can work…and maybe it won’t, but this…us…it deserves a shot,” Eames said. “And…I love you too. Now let’s actually eat.”
Goren smiled and lightly brushed his lips to hers before returning to his plate.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Beginnings -- Chapter 4
3 months later
Eames paced the length of her living room rug as she waited for Goren to get there. Initially she told him she wanted to be alone, but three hours of gnawing at her thumb nails prompted her to call him.
She heard a knock, his knock, and opened the door to a casual Goren dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey…what’s wrong?” he asked as he followed her into the living room.
She could feel his steady gaze searing into her back.
He was always the anxious one; the one fighting to explain himself, while she was the steady one. She was rarely indecisive or easily spooked. So, why did she so hastily tell him that she wanted to be alone, and then call him to come over barely three hours later?
He listened as she took a deep breath and led him to the sofa. She turned her body toward his once seated and held his hand. He took this a sign of good faith.
“Okay…” Eames sighed. “So you know I went to the doctor this morning because I was gonna go back on the pill…”
“Yeah…” he said with a furrowed brow.
“Well…it looks like…it’s a little late for that.”
She looked up at his eyes, wondering if he was going to make her say the actual words. She’d never seen this fearful, silent face before.
“You’re?”
“Yeah…”
Goren stood and started the same path Eames walked earlier up and down the rug.
“How…how far along?”
“About six weeks.”
She propped her arm over the sofa and rubbed her forehead. Her stomach seemed to be swirling in step with his pacing.
“How long have you suspected?”
“I didn’t.”
“We’ve been careful.”
“Obviously not careful enough.”
“Wh-what do you want to do?”
She grabbed his wrist and tugged him back to the sofa.
“Please sit,” she pushed him onto the sofa and she sat on the coffee table. “Bobby, I’m thirty-six years old, I may not get another chance at this…and ever since…”
Goren tapped his fingers against his knee and kept his eyes on her joined hands.
“I knew…I could tell you wanted kids after you had your nephew, but we’ve never discussed this…I don’t know if I…we haven’t even told anyone that we’re together and…”
“Look, I’m prepared to do this on my own—“
“No—“
“I don’t want you here out of obligation.”
“It’s not that I don’t want this…there’s just a lot to consider. Work, your family…my mom,” he said then met her eyes. “You know it’ll have a greater chance…”
“I know,” she said reaching behind her for a group of papers. “I’ve been reading about it since I got home.”
He tentatively took the print outs from her and thumbed through them.
“You read all of this?”
She nodded. “I may not spend hours at the library, but I can do research. Listen, I’m not being naïve about this, but the fact that you or your brother has never shown signs means there’s a good chance that your children wouldn’t either.”
Eames could feel him thinking and with her gaze attempted to sooth him into believing it would be okay; that one way or another things would work out.
“You really want this…with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
He exhaled and placed his hands on her knees.
“How long do you want to wait to tell everyone?”
His voice was flat, trying to hide his concerns, but it was still something.
“I figure we have a couple months before we have to.”
He slid his hands up to her hips as he leaned his forehead to her shoulder and she draped her arms around his. She lightly kissed his cheek and then buried her nose in the crook of his neck.
He focused on the light strings of air tickling his neck and wanted desperately to believe her.
“Eames, I don’t want you to be upset with me but…I’m gonna need some time to get my head around all of this.”
“I know…it’s okay.”
“I—“ Goren began to open his mouth again when his cell started to ring.
They let go of each other and he fished his phone out of his pocket.
“Goren,” he answered and paused to listen. “Okay…no, I’ll call her.”
She rubbed her face against her hands before looking back at him, as if putting on a new face.
“So?” she asked as he put his phone back in this pocket.
“Uh…there’s a body in the subway…looks like he just collapse after stealing some diamonds from a jewelry store near the station…looks like an accomplice got away with the goods.”
“How considerate.”
He rose and headed toward her bedroom.
“I still have a suit here, right?”
“Near the back of the closet,” she called as she followed after him.
Eames paced the length of her living room rug as she waited for Goren to get there. Initially she told him she wanted to be alone, but three hours of gnawing at her thumb nails prompted her to call him.
She heard a knock, his knock, and opened the door to a casual Goren dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey…what’s wrong?” he asked as he followed her into the living room.
She could feel his steady gaze searing into her back.
He was always the anxious one; the one fighting to explain himself, while she was the steady one. She was rarely indecisive or easily spooked. So, why did she so hastily tell him that she wanted to be alone, and then call him to come over barely three hours later?
He listened as she took a deep breath and led him to the sofa. She turned her body toward his once seated and held his hand. He took this a sign of good faith.
“Okay…” Eames sighed. “So you know I went to the doctor this morning because I was gonna go back on the pill…”
“Yeah…” he said with a furrowed brow.
“Well…it looks like…it’s a little late for that.”
She looked up at his eyes, wondering if he was going to make her say the actual words. She’d never seen this fearful, silent face before.
“You’re?”
“Yeah…”
Goren stood and started the same path Eames walked earlier up and down the rug.
“How…how far along?”
“About six weeks.”
She propped her arm over the sofa and rubbed her forehead. Her stomach seemed to be swirling in step with his pacing.
“How long have you suspected?”
“I didn’t.”
“We’ve been careful.”
“Obviously not careful enough.”
“Wh-what do you want to do?”
She grabbed his wrist and tugged him back to the sofa.
“Please sit,” she pushed him onto the sofa and she sat on the coffee table. “Bobby, I’m thirty-six years old, I may not get another chance at this…and ever since…”
Goren tapped his fingers against his knee and kept his eyes on her joined hands.
“I knew…I could tell you wanted kids after you had your nephew, but we’ve never discussed this…I don’t know if I…we haven’t even told anyone that we’re together and…”
“Look, I’m prepared to do this on my own—“
“No—“
“I don’t want you here out of obligation.”
“It’s not that I don’t want this…there’s just a lot to consider. Work, your family…my mom,” he said then met her eyes. “You know it’ll have a greater chance…”
“I know,” she said reaching behind her for a group of papers. “I’ve been reading about it since I got home.”
He tentatively took the print outs from her and thumbed through them.
“You read all of this?”
She nodded. “I may not spend hours at the library, but I can do research. Listen, I’m not being naïve about this, but the fact that you or your brother has never shown signs means there’s a good chance that your children wouldn’t either.”
Eames could feel him thinking and with her gaze attempted to sooth him into believing it would be okay; that one way or another things would work out.
“You really want this…with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
He exhaled and placed his hands on her knees.
“How long do you want to wait to tell everyone?”
His voice was flat, trying to hide his concerns, but it was still something.
“I figure we have a couple months before we have to.”
He slid his hands up to her hips as he leaned his forehead to her shoulder and she draped her arms around his. She lightly kissed his cheek and then buried her nose in the crook of his neck.
He focused on the light strings of air tickling his neck and wanted desperately to believe her.
“Eames, I don’t want you to be upset with me but…I’m gonna need some time to get my head around all of this.”
“I know…it’s okay.”
“I—“ Goren began to open his mouth again when his cell started to ring.
They let go of each other and he fished his phone out of his pocket.
“Goren,” he answered and paused to listen. “Okay…no, I’ll call her.”
She rubbed her face against her hands before looking back at him, as if putting on a new face.
“So?” she asked as he put his phone back in this pocket.
“Uh…there’s a body in the subway…looks like he just collapse after stealing some diamonds from a jewelry store near the station…looks like an accomplice got away with the goods.”
“How considerate.”
He rose and headed toward her bedroom.
“I still have a suit here, right?”
“Near the back of the closet,” she called as she followed after him.
Beginnings -- Chapter 3
A month later
Goren walked up to Eames’ modest bungalow in Rockaway. He heard the faint sound of music seep through the cracks in the door frame; he was pretty sure it was The Smiths.
He rang the bell and listened to the locks discharge.
A messy Eames appeared in the doorway wearing gray yoga pants stained with blue paint and a frayed blue cami. He loved the fact that he was welcome into these hidden sides of her, which he either never saw before or tried to ignore.
“Hey,” she said. “I thought you were visiting your mom.”
“I…I was. I just got back. Sorry, I should have called.”
“No. It’s fine…come in,” she gestured him inside. “I was just cleaning.”
He followed her toward the living room and she turned down the stereo.
“I didn’t know you liked The Smiths,” Goren said.
He hovered in the doorway with his hands shoved into denim pockets and concentrated on the movement of her shoulder blades before she turned to face him.
She smirked. “I didn’t know you knew who they were.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Morrissey…has an interesting view of the world and some of his references are fairly obscure.”
She smirked, thinking naturally that’s why he would like them, and curled up in a chair to watched Goren in the doorway.
“Are you okay?” Eames asked.
He nodded and scratched the back of his neck as he wandered further into the room.
“Yeah…we just haven’t talked since we left Carver’s office yesterday,” he said.
“Didn’t seem like there was much to say.”
“I take it your still mad at me.”
“I was never mad at you.”
“You were upset.”
“I just…I don’t understand why you went to bat for him. You said it yourself that he would do it again.”
“But he didn’t do it out of malice,” he said pacing in front of her. “He did it out of desperation.”
“Bobby, he drilled a hole in a girl’s head and poured water on her brain. All of us have moments of need and desperation but—“
“It’s more than just the yearning…it’s the hopelessness,” he sat down on the edge of the coffee table to meet her eyes. “To be alone for so long, to not have anyone to talk to or to help you…to feel you have to hide what you are so as not to be rejected. It…it’s maddening.”
For the briefest of moments she saw that desperation in the dark eyes seated in front of her and felt the understanding come over her, accompanied by a slight sadness as she leaned forward in her chair.
“And…that’s how you felt as a kid,” she said cautiously.
Goren started to pace again and rubbed his hand along his chin and jaw. Eames followed him and caught his wrist. She put herself in front of him and placed her hands on his chest. He didn’t look up at her, but covered her hands with his own and made circles with his thumbs.
He lifted his eyes from their hands to her eyes.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I was never as…isolated as Tagman, but…I know that sadness…of just needing…someone.”
“Hey,” Eames said and snaked her hands up to his neck. “You can talk to me, you know, about your mom…or whatever. You don’t have to, but you can.”
He ran a hand through her hair and tucked a piece behind her ear.
He nodded. “Today…today was a bad day. I just…I really wanted to see you.”
She pulled his lips down to hers and he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“You want to stay and make me dinner?” she smiled against his lips.
He laughed and stood straight, grateful that she knew he wasn’t ready to say more.
“Do you have anything to make dinner with?”
“You’re resourceful. You’ll figure something out.”
“I could take you out.”
“What like an actual date?”
“We’ve gone out before.”
“No…we’ve gone to grab a bite after wrapping up a case.”
“Okay…well we could remedy that.”
Eames softly shook her head. “Let’s just stay here.”
Goren smiled. “You don’t feel like getting dressed do you?”
“Not at all.”
Goren nodded and made his way to rummage through the kitchen. He discovered some pasta
and canned sauce, which he added some spices and mushrooms to.
They sat hip to hip on the sofa as they ate and watched a movie. Their plates gradually made their way to the coffee table and Eames began to doze off on his shoulder.
She was warm and lazy, seemingly unaware of his presence.
“Eames,” he whispered into her hair.
“I’m awake.”
He quietly laughed. “Do you want me to go?”
She looked up and rested her chin on his shoulder.
“I figured you were going to stay…unless you’re uncomfortable.”
“No, I’d like to stay.”
She nodded. “It’s just we always end up at you’re place.”
“Well, it’s closer to work…” he said then studied her eyes. “Are you comfortable with me staying here?”
“I want you to stay…but I also…”
“Feel guilty?” he offered. “Because…because of Joe.”
She nodded. “It’s silly…I mean it’s been six years…”
“It’s not silly…it’s loyalty. You shared his house with him…if you want me to stay I will and I understand if you’re not ready for me to.”
“You’re going to make me make all the tough decisions, aren’t you,” she said through a smile.
He watched her conflicted eyes speak silently to his and understood that she needed him to lead on this one.
“I want to stay.”
“Okay.”
She slid her chin off this shoulder, guiding her temple back to take its place and returned to a light, warm sleep.
Goren walked up to Eames’ modest bungalow in Rockaway. He heard the faint sound of music seep through the cracks in the door frame; he was pretty sure it was The Smiths.
He rang the bell and listened to the locks discharge.
A messy Eames appeared in the doorway wearing gray yoga pants stained with blue paint and a frayed blue cami. He loved the fact that he was welcome into these hidden sides of her, which he either never saw before or tried to ignore.
“Hey,” she said. “I thought you were visiting your mom.”
“I…I was. I just got back. Sorry, I should have called.”
“No. It’s fine…come in,” she gestured him inside. “I was just cleaning.”
He followed her toward the living room and she turned down the stereo.
“I didn’t know you liked The Smiths,” Goren said.
He hovered in the doorway with his hands shoved into denim pockets and concentrated on the movement of her shoulder blades before she turned to face him.
She smirked. “I didn’t know you knew who they were.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Morrissey…has an interesting view of the world and some of his references are fairly obscure.”
She smirked, thinking naturally that’s why he would like them, and curled up in a chair to watched Goren in the doorway.
“Are you okay?” Eames asked.
He nodded and scratched the back of his neck as he wandered further into the room.
“Yeah…we just haven’t talked since we left Carver’s office yesterday,” he said.
“Didn’t seem like there was much to say.”
“I take it your still mad at me.”
“I was never mad at you.”
“You were upset.”
“I just…I don’t understand why you went to bat for him. You said it yourself that he would do it again.”
“But he didn’t do it out of malice,” he said pacing in front of her. “He did it out of desperation.”
“Bobby, he drilled a hole in a girl’s head and poured water on her brain. All of us have moments of need and desperation but—“
“It’s more than just the yearning…it’s the hopelessness,” he sat down on the edge of the coffee table to meet her eyes. “To be alone for so long, to not have anyone to talk to or to help you…to feel you have to hide what you are so as not to be rejected. It…it’s maddening.”
For the briefest of moments she saw that desperation in the dark eyes seated in front of her and felt the understanding come over her, accompanied by a slight sadness as she leaned forward in her chair.
“And…that’s how you felt as a kid,” she said cautiously.
Goren started to pace again and rubbed his hand along his chin and jaw. Eames followed him and caught his wrist. She put herself in front of him and placed her hands on his chest. He didn’t look up at her, but covered her hands with his own and made circles with his thumbs.
He lifted his eyes from their hands to her eyes.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I was never as…isolated as Tagman, but…I know that sadness…of just needing…someone.”
“Hey,” Eames said and snaked her hands up to his neck. “You can talk to me, you know, about your mom…or whatever. You don’t have to, but you can.”
He ran a hand through her hair and tucked a piece behind her ear.
He nodded. “Today…today was a bad day. I just…I really wanted to see you.”
She pulled his lips down to hers and he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“You want to stay and make me dinner?” she smiled against his lips.
He laughed and stood straight, grateful that she knew he wasn’t ready to say more.
“Do you have anything to make dinner with?”
“You’re resourceful. You’ll figure something out.”
“I could take you out.”
“What like an actual date?”
“We’ve gone out before.”
“No…we’ve gone to grab a bite after wrapping up a case.”
“Okay…well we could remedy that.”
Eames softly shook her head. “Let’s just stay here.”
Goren smiled. “You don’t feel like getting dressed do you?”
“Not at all.”
Goren nodded and made his way to rummage through the kitchen. He discovered some pasta
and canned sauce, which he added some spices and mushrooms to.
They sat hip to hip on the sofa as they ate and watched a movie. Their plates gradually made their way to the coffee table and Eames began to doze off on his shoulder.
She was warm and lazy, seemingly unaware of his presence.
“Eames,” he whispered into her hair.
“I’m awake.”
He quietly laughed. “Do you want me to go?”
She looked up and rested her chin on his shoulder.
“I figured you were going to stay…unless you’re uncomfortable.”
“No, I’d like to stay.”
She nodded. “It’s just we always end up at you’re place.”
“Well, it’s closer to work…” he said then studied her eyes. “Are you comfortable with me staying here?”
“I want you to stay…but I also…”
“Feel guilty?” he offered. “Because…because of Joe.”
She nodded. “It’s silly…I mean it’s been six years…”
“It’s not silly…it’s loyalty. You shared his house with him…if you want me to stay I will and I understand if you’re not ready for me to.”
“You’re going to make me make all the tough decisions, aren’t you,” she said through a smile.
He watched her conflicted eyes speak silently to his and understood that she needed him to lead on this one.
“I want to stay.”
“Okay.”
She slid her chin off this shoulder, guiding her temple back to take its place and returned to a light, warm sleep.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Beginnings -- Chapter 2
A couple months later
Neldah was a cultured, intelligent, and delicate woman, all of which were traits Goren had seemed to be attracted to in the past. She was also a murderer, a fact Eames was desperately trying to comfort herself with.
Eames was certainly no murderer, but she also had never heard the terms “cultured” or “delicate” used in a sentence with her name attached. Tough, smart, and sarcastic, she heard plenty. So, why was this well traveled, ridiculously well read, beautiful man sitting in a Thai diner with her and not out finding a non-murderous Neldah?
The pair sat in the back booth and Eames picked at her chicken pad Thai with a plastic fork. She could feel his eyes on her from the opposite side and he leaned slightly across the table.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You know Deakins was worried you were getting to close to her.”
He watched her with parted lips and a raised brow. She hated that look because she knew in that one glance he could strip her completely naked.
“And…and so did you,” he said. “Eames—“
“Bobby, I’ve watched you flirt with suspects before. This was different…given the right situation you could have—“
“She’s a murderer…and I’m with you.”
“But if she wasn’t? I’ve seen some of your old girlfriends and she fits the bill a hell of a lot better than me—“
“So what the hell have we been doing the past two months?”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. We keep saying we’re going to sit down and talk about our…relationship or whatever this is—“
“Whatever this is?” Goren’s voice rose. “What do think that…that I’ve been using you?”
She was surprised by the hurt in his voice, but didn’t soften her own.
“Were you attracted to her?”
“So what if I was. It doesn’t mean that I would automatically want to pursue a relationship with her or anything else for that matter…and I know I would never love her.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes! I do, because I—“ he pressed a hand to his lips, pushing the words back in.
“What? You what?”
He lowered his hand and caught her eyes with his.
“Because I love you…I’m in love with you.”
Eames sat back in her seat. “I…”
“I’ve never…I’ve never been good at saying the words, but I’ve wanted to for…for a while…and please say something.”
“I…I guess were having that talk.”
He gave her an unsure smile.
“I’m sorry if I took it too far with Neldah. I never intended to worry or hurt you…”
“Can you take me home?”
“Uh…what?”
She pulled out some cash from her pocket and placed it on the table. Then she slid from her side of the booth to his and twined her fingers with his.
“I’m not good with the words either.”
He studied her for a moment with that same naked look and then followed her lead as they walked hand-in-hand to his apartment.
Neldah was a cultured, intelligent, and delicate woman, all of which were traits Goren had seemed to be attracted to in the past. She was also a murderer, a fact Eames was desperately trying to comfort herself with.
Eames was certainly no murderer, but she also had never heard the terms “cultured” or “delicate” used in a sentence with her name attached. Tough, smart, and sarcastic, she heard plenty. So, why was this well traveled, ridiculously well read, beautiful man sitting in a Thai diner with her and not out finding a non-murderous Neldah?
The pair sat in the back booth and Eames picked at her chicken pad Thai with a plastic fork. She could feel his eyes on her from the opposite side and he leaned slightly across the table.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You know Deakins was worried you were getting to close to her.”
He watched her with parted lips and a raised brow. She hated that look because she knew in that one glance he could strip her completely naked.
“And…and so did you,” he said. “Eames—“
“Bobby, I’ve watched you flirt with suspects before. This was different…given the right situation you could have—“
“She’s a murderer…and I’m with you.”
“But if she wasn’t? I’ve seen some of your old girlfriends and she fits the bill a hell of a lot better than me—“
“So what the hell have we been doing the past two months?”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. We keep saying we’re going to sit down and talk about our…relationship or whatever this is—“
“Whatever this is?” Goren’s voice rose. “What do think that…that I’ve been using you?”
She was surprised by the hurt in his voice, but didn’t soften her own.
“Were you attracted to her?”
“So what if I was. It doesn’t mean that I would automatically want to pursue a relationship with her or anything else for that matter…and I know I would never love her.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes! I do, because I—“ he pressed a hand to his lips, pushing the words back in.
“What? You what?”
He lowered his hand and caught her eyes with his.
“Because I love you…I’m in love with you.”
Eames sat back in her seat. “I…”
“I’ve never…I’ve never been good at saying the words, but I’ve wanted to for…for a while…and please say something.”
“I…I guess were having that talk.”
He gave her an unsure smile.
“I’m sorry if I took it too far with Neldah. I never intended to worry or hurt you…”
“Can you take me home?”
“Uh…what?”
She pulled out some cash from her pocket and placed it on the table. Then she slid from her side of the booth to his and twined her fingers with his.
“I’m not good with the words either.”
He studied her for a moment with that same naked look and then followed her lead as they walked hand-in-hand to his apartment.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Morning After...
A/N: a one shot from Alex's POV that picks up directly after chapter 1 of Beginnings
As I turn my face further into the pillow I slowly become aware of the fact that I am not in my own bed. I smell the subtle scent of my partner’s after shave and notice fingertips skating along my exposed back, which brings back all the memories of last night.
I showed up on my partner’s door, I kissed him, tried to leave, he convinced me to stay, and took me to bed.
I really don’t want to be awake right now because I’m not sure if I’m really ready to deal with this, but I know faking sleep would be futile since he is probably well aware that I am in fact awake.
The natural easiness of last night is much more muddled now that one of us has to voice the question that we both are wondering: what now? What are we now? What do we do if…
There are so many things that could fill in that blank.
What about our jobs? Who do we tell? Is there anything to tell?
Was this just some mistake made out of loneliness and convenience?
This could end so horribly.
He’s my partner, my friend, the last person I should feel these things for and do these things with.
The few sexual encounters I’ve had since Joe’s death have been physically satisfying, but otherwise meaningless. This is different. This is Bobby; a man I understand when most don’t, one who, if necessary, would take a bullet for me, and one who I have started to care deeply for; probably more than I should and definitely more than is allowed.
He doesn’t say anything, he barely moves, but I can feel him watching and waiting for me.
I let out a breath as softly as I can and turn my neck to look at him. He’s on his side, his head propped up on his elbow as he meets my eyes. His hair is tousled and I can’t help but think how adorable he looks.
The certainty that was etched into every one of his features and movements last night is now only partially there and it occurs to me that he is much more insecure than he cares to admit.
He still doesn’t speak and I understand that he’s leaving it up to me; that he’s half expecting me to dissipate into his sheets and will have to accept this as a particularly vivid wet dream. I know this because a part of me is holding my breath as I expect the same thing, but after several seconds that seem like miles turning into years we are both still here in his bed, staring.
“Hi,” I say, finally, but soft enough that he can easily ignore it if he’s not ready to step out of the safety of the little pinhole of a world that we have created in this bed.
His fingers don’t falter in their movements as he says, “Hi,” and then they venture a little lower, as if testing the waters.
I try to swallow the soft gasp I desperately want to let out, hoping he may not notice, but when I see that the certainty in his expression is less fifty/fifty and more like seventy/thirty I know that it wasn't missed.
“Have you been up long?” I ask, thinking that starting with a simple question is best.
He shrugs.
“Uh…a couple hours I guess,” he says.
Something about the idea of him watching me all that time while I slept makes me inwardly squirm with affection, desire, and a little bit of fear.
I just might be falling in love with this man, but I fight the thought, because I know neither of us is really ready to make promises or confessions.
“Uh…did you want to get breakfast…or…” I ask, even though I know it’s lame and inadequate.
“I-I need to leave soon…”
“Oh,” I say a little flustered and about ready to scramble off the bed when I feel his palm cupping my shoulder.
“I-I’m sorry…it’s just…it’s Sunday and I always go up and visit my mom. If I’m late it throws off her schedule…sh-she can get kind of agitated.”
Now I really feel embarrassed at my own insecurities that I’m sure are starting to show.
“Right,” I sigh more than say, then it dawns on me that I do actually have plans today and start searching for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Uh…” he seems a little startled by the suddenness of my question. “Not quite eight…”
I gather the sheets around me, shifting until I am sitting and he follows, studying me with a worried gaze.
“I told my sister I’d baby-sit today…I have to go home if I’m going to make it to her house before eleven,” I say.
He nods and we both stare at each other again; both of us hesitant to get out from under the amour of his sheets.
He stutters something that I don’t really catch and then turns so his back is to me, planting his feet on the floor. He’s officially back in the real world where there’s consequences, questions, and uncertainty.
I watch the muscles of his back flex as he scrubs his palms over his face and then finally take my cue to throw the covers off and get out of his bed.
I find my clothes and slip back into the black dress I had arrived in and I can’t help but think how cliché I am: slipping out of a man’s apartment wearing the same, but now disheveled clothes I had on the night before.
While I dress I hear him rise from the bed and slip into a pair of sweat pants that he pulls from a drawer.
When I turn back to face him he is watching me and wringing his hands together. He finally turns toward the door and I follow him back to the front door.
Neither of us knows what to say as he stands leaning on the now open door and I hover half in and half out of the apartment. I’ll call doesn’t seem genuine and I’ll see you later is too flippant.
I watch his hands hesitate between us, arguing with the rest of him that is too unsure to do what he wants. I take a fraction of a step toward him and hope that it’s enough of an encouragement.
It is, because I feel his palms on my cheeks and then his lips on mine. It’s simple and thankful more so than demanding and more memories from last night begin to flirt with my head.
He pulls back, which I’m not completely prepared for, but his hands are still on me and his thumbs brush back and forth against my cheekbones.
“I should go,” I say.
He nods.
“I know.”
His hands slip back to the space between us and then he watches me leave.
I’m on autopilot as I drive home, get into my house, and then start the shower.
I spend the whole time thinking about him and as I scrub my body clean of any sigh of him, I find myself mourning the loss.
I feel like some idiotic school girl as I wonder what he’s doing.
Has he already left for Carmel Ridge? Did he feel just as naked as I do now, when he washed my scent off of his skin? Is he even thinking about me? Will he call me tonight? Should I call him? Do we both need the distance before we can really process all of this and its meaning?
I force myself out of the shower and get ready to go see my nephew, who’s probably the only other living human being who might be able to get me to stop thinking about Bobby.
Within an hour I am back out the door and make the drive to my sister’s house.
I try to play it cool as I chit chat with Carrie and her husband as they prepare to leave for their day trip and pray that she doesn’t see it.
They finally leave us and it’s just me and Nathan. He’s starting to walk a little, but is still unsteady on his feet and latches on to whatever he can find to pull himself where he wishes to go.
My nerves ease as I watch and play with him. This little boy will probably never understand what he has done to me.
In many ways, after Joe died, I shut down when it came to my personal life.
Nathan has opened a door in me, giving room for someone else to move in. Apparently Bobby sees this and more importantly I’m discovering that I want to invite him in.
We have a quiet but wonderful day and when my sister gets back home Nathan is already down for the night.
I return to my empty house and get ready for bed. Since my distraction is now gone, I can’t help but start to think about Bobby again. I curse my brain for wandering to my partner and then my body for its reaction.
I can’t be this woman. I don’t pine. I don’t get googely-eyed. Why can he do this to me? I never thought of him this much before, did I?
I look over at the phone resting on my night stand and wonder if he’s debating whether or not it’s appropriate to call, but he doesn’t call me and I don’t call him.
Monday morning almost seems like any other. I come in to find Bobby already at his desk and reading a file.
He gives me a small smile, which I return easily despite the questions that scream between us and I hope we’re the only ones that can hear them.
We go through the day as if it’s any other. We get called out to a crime scene and talk to witnesses. Then head to the morgue to get another look at the body and hear what Rodgers found.
As we listen I watch him as he carefully lifts the victim’s arm with his strong but graceful fingers and I remember how those fingers pleaded, conversed, and finally danced with my skin.
I notice Rodgers glancing over me with the perplexed scowl that Bobby usually earns from her. I shake it off and move closer to the body, though I can feel the pink creeping over my cheeks.
Bobby rattles off theories and ideas, and I nod along.
We go on with our day and make pretty good headway on the case. To anyone else I’m confident we seemed like the usual Goren and Eames, bouncing ideas and findings back and forth with ease and little discussion.
We wrap up the day and I head to the elevator with him only a couple steps behind me.
It’s a regular occurrence, but this time instead of trying to decide what I might have for dinner or whether or not I’m going to drop by to see my nephew, I focus on walking straighter than normal and fight the urge to glance over my shoulder to see if I might catch him in the act of checking out my ass.
We step on the elevator in silence and my nerves twist my stomach into knots. Was it a fluke? Did he get what he needed and is never planning to bring it up again? Did he just fuck me when I could have sworn that every tentative movement was him making love to me?
God, did I really just use that term?
But that night he said that we couldn’t go back and he respects me too much for to use me. So why—
“D-did you want to get dinner?” his voice breaks into my head.
I must look like an idiot as I gape at him and try to reassemble any shred of rationality and dignity I can pull up from the floor.
“We-we could go get something…” he says lacing his fingers and I find myself comforted by his fidgeting. “Or-or you could come back to my apartment…I-I mean I could cook.”
I’ve never had a man cook for me. Joe tried once, but in the end we ended up having to order a pizza and to make matters worse, the same night he gave me a taser for our anniversary. He occasionally had his moments, but he was never much of a romantic. Neither am I for that matter and the fact that Bobby probably is makes me both wonderfully anxious to see what he may come up with or do next and frightened that I may be reading to much in to it.
He shifts and I am probably taking too long to respond.
“Uh…your place is fine.”
He nods and gives a smile that I want to believe is reserved only for me.
He follows me quietly to my car in the parking garage and I drive us to his apartment.
Once inside I shed my jacket, draping it over a chair at the small kitchen table, and he begins to rummage through the refrigerator. He pulls a few things out and lists a few different things he could make, wanting me to say which I would prefer.
I watch his shoulder blades move beneath his dress shirt and as he stands straight I step up behind him. I place my hand on the center of his back, silencing him, and then he slowly turns around.
He looks down at me with the same look he gave me when I woke up in his bed a day ago and I understand that he doesn’t want to be presumptuous. He wants me to invite him, to give him permission, but I also need him to meet me half way because I don’t know if I’m brave enough to make the decision for both of us.
This would be easier if I was taller or if he was shorter, since then I could effortlessly get my arms around him and pull him to me. But I’m short and he’s tall and there’s more maneuvering involved than I’m used to.
I take the ingredients out of his hands and place them on the kitchen table behind me. I stand on my tip toes, reaching to link my arms around his neck, and he does meet me half way, bending as I pull his mouth to mine.
I think the invitation is clear and I can hear his acceptance when he clasps his hands onto my waist.
He spins us around and before I realize it, I am seated on the counter with my thighs cradling his hips and our clothes becoming offensive barriers.
Our first time was cautious and explorative, while this time is needy and desperate.
We don’t make it to the bedroom and I’m pretty certain that neither of us will be able to look at his counter the same way again.
How can he do this? How can he make me feel like all my bones are about to splash against the linoleum of his kitchen floor?
His lips are against my temple letting out wordless melodies of cries and groans as I grip his shoulders, holding on for dear life, until my whole body seems to turn to jelly.
When he finally stills, we both are letting out harsh, shaky breaths and his legs tremble slightly against my thighs. I think that if there wasn’t a high probability of him busting open his skull, he would collapse to the floor.
I rest my forehead on his shoulder and plant my hands on either side of his waist, hoping that he hears the message: if you let me I’ll catch you.
His hands leave the support of the counter top and move to my cheeks, pulling my head up so that he can see me. He brushes my hair off of my now slightly damp face and leans in for a soft kiss.
His forehead falls against mine and his eyes are so close to mine that it’s almost startling.
He’s not like me; for all of his hiding and keeping people at a distance I’m still better or I guess worse depending on how you look at it. His feelings show through in every worry line and in every fleck of brown that colors his pupils.
I’m just as vulnerable and I think more terrified, but I have always let my cynicism and sarcasm rule my features, but I can feel them starting to soften.
He was right: there is no going back, no pretending that it doesn’t mean something even if we aren’t ready to clarify exactly what that is.
I lightly kiss him and he gives me that smile that I now know is my smile.
He carefully leaves my body and discards the condom I can’t recall when or how he put on, though I’m grateful that one of us had a rational adult thought.
He pulls his boxers back up around his hips and then picks up his shirt.
He drapes the shirt around my shoulders and I worm my arms into the sleeves, knowing I probably look comical with it hanging off of my limbs, but not really caring.
My eyes dart from his downcast face to his nimble fingers that work to slip close the buttons.
“I-I really did have…honorable intentions when I invited you here,” he says and I can’t help but laugh.
“Well I’m still expecting a dinner,” I say and he grins.
He stands straight and lightly tickles my knee with his fingertips.
“Good,” he says.
He takes my hands in his and helps me off the counter, but my legs still feel a little rubbery. He dips and picks up my panties. I take them from him before he actually passes them to me and then step into them.
A few moments later, I watch him as he cooks and I realize that he really enjoys doing it. He’s probably the most at ease that I’ve ever seen him and rattles off why he puts one spice in and not another, what consistency you want for a tomato sauce, and the perfect firmness for spaghetti noodles.
Once we sit to eat, I cross my ankles and rest my legs against his thigh. His left hand forks his food while his right massages my calf. We easily talk in between mouthfuls of food. He mentions wanting to talk to the victim’s husband again and the case is an easy starting point for us.
He finally asks how my day was with my nephew and I can’t help but grin. I explain how big Nathan is getting and that he’s walking a little.
I reach behind me, pull my phone from jacket pocket, and then search for the snapshots of Nathan. I pass Bobby the phone and he smiles as he scrolls through.
“He-he’s beautiful,” he says.
I blush slightly as I read between the lines. In his own round about, I don’t want to freak you out by saying this too soon way, he’s saying that I’m beautiful. I’m glad that he doesn’t say it outright. I’ve never been good with compliments and it would be too much, too fast for me to digest without a slight twinge of panic because of what him thinking that could possibly mean.
“How about you?” I ask tentatively.
He stills and maybe it’s too soon for me to ask about his visits with his mother. I know I don’t know everything but I know enough. I have on occasion noticed how he seems more tired some Mondays than he did when leaving the Friday before.
“I-it was okay,” he says with a nod and his fingers start working again against the skin of my leg.
“She had a good day.” He’s quiet for a couple of minutes and I leave it alone, returning to my plate. “Th-the meds they have her on are pretty effective…b-but some of the side effects…nausea mostly…can get really bad. But this week she felt pretty good.”
I understand how much it takes for him to tell me all this and I don’t take it lightly. It may only be a crack, but I honor it and hope, that when the time comes, I can also widen the doors of my past and pain to him.
We keep eating in a comfortable silence and then he clears the table when we are finished.
We both stand in front of each other in his kitchen and we can both feel things getting muddled again. He’s not ready for me to leave and I’m not ready to go.
He must recognize this because he takes the first step this time and twines his fingers with mine, gently tugging me toward the bedroom.
I follow and after we are just feet from his bed he pulls me in front of him. The fingers on his free hand lightly trace the lines of my face and I smile.
This eggs him on and he releases my hand so that he can loosen the buttons of the shirt I wear with the same deliberateness he had when closing them. He slides it off my shoulders, letting it flitter to the floor, and he drinks me with his fingertips, which brush against the curve of my breast and then slide down the line of my torso to play with the rim of my panties.
He kneels in front of me, cupping my hips in his hands, and kisses the slight swell of my abdomen that no amount of exercise seems to get rid of since having my nephew.
His fingers slide the short distance from skin to cotton and hooks his fingers into my panties to pull them down my legs.
After we fall into the bed, he proves that his memorization of patterns and ridiculous amounts of knowledge is not lost on the patterns and knowledge he finds painted on my skin or buried in the place he discovers inside of me.
We float in the pond that is his bed as I lie on my side and lazily stare at the white wall across from me. His body is curled around mine. His arm is wrapped around me and his hand is loosely latched to my wrist while his thumb teases my pulse point.
Bobby is a cuddler.
If this were any other man I’d probably feel suffocated. I have never fancied myself as a cuddly person and Joe, though attentive, wasn’t either. Maybe I’m a closet cuddler, because a girl could get use to this: to the warmth and the safety of being wrapped up in his limbs.
“Bobby?”
“Hmm?” I feel his reply whistle against my hair.
“You realize I can’t stay through the morning…”
He stiffens and he doesn’t have to actually move for me to know he’s retreating from me.
“I mean…” I regroup and twist my neck to look up at him. “I can’t exactly go to work tomorrow wearing the clothes I wore today…”
He smiles out of relief and maybe a little out of embarrassment.
“I-I guess not,” he says and then drops a kiss on my temple. “I-it’s okay if…if you want to bring a few things here…j-just in case.”
I nod and then rest my head back against the pillow.
“Make sure I wake up early enough to make it back to Rockaway, okay?”
I feel him nod and somewhere under the questions that still haven’t been answered we are certain that tomorrow I will be back in his bed and the night after that, and after that.
Eventually we won’t fall into his bed, but into mine. Some of my things will migrate into his space and the bottom drawer of my dresser that I never use will become his.
This may not turn out so horribly after all.
As I turn my face further into the pillow I slowly become aware of the fact that I am not in my own bed. I smell the subtle scent of my partner’s after shave and notice fingertips skating along my exposed back, which brings back all the memories of last night.
I showed up on my partner’s door, I kissed him, tried to leave, he convinced me to stay, and took me to bed.
I really don’t want to be awake right now because I’m not sure if I’m really ready to deal with this, but I know faking sleep would be futile since he is probably well aware that I am in fact awake.
The natural easiness of last night is much more muddled now that one of us has to voice the question that we both are wondering: what now? What are we now? What do we do if…
There are so many things that could fill in that blank.
What about our jobs? Who do we tell? Is there anything to tell?
Was this just some mistake made out of loneliness and convenience?
This could end so horribly.
He’s my partner, my friend, the last person I should feel these things for and do these things with.
The few sexual encounters I’ve had since Joe’s death have been physically satisfying, but otherwise meaningless. This is different. This is Bobby; a man I understand when most don’t, one who, if necessary, would take a bullet for me, and one who I have started to care deeply for; probably more than I should and definitely more than is allowed.
He doesn’t say anything, he barely moves, but I can feel him watching and waiting for me.
I let out a breath as softly as I can and turn my neck to look at him. He’s on his side, his head propped up on his elbow as he meets my eyes. His hair is tousled and I can’t help but think how adorable he looks.
The certainty that was etched into every one of his features and movements last night is now only partially there and it occurs to me that he is much more insecure than he cares to admit.
He still doesn’t speak and I understand that he’s leaving it up to me; that he’s half expecting me to dissipate into his sheets and will have to accept this as a particularly vivid wet dream. I know this because a part of me is holding my breath as I expect the same thing, but after several seconds that seem like miles turning into years we are both still here in his bed, staring.
“Hi,” I say, finally, but soft enough that he can easily ignore it if he’s not ready to step out of the safety of the little pinhole of a world that we have created in this bed.
His fingers don’t falter in their movements as he says, “Hi,” and then they venture a little lower, as if testing the waters.
I try to swallow the soft gasp I desperately want to let out, hoping he may not notice, but when I see that the certainty in his expression is less fifty/fifty and more like seventy/thirty I know that it wasn't missed.
“Have you been up long?” I ask, thinking that starting with a simple question is best.
He shrugs.
“Uh…a couple hours I guess,” he says.
Something about the idea of him watching me all that time while I slept makes me inwardly squirm with affection, desire, and a little bit of fear.
I just might be falling in love with this man, but I fight the thought, because I know neither of us is really ready to make promises or confessions.
“Uh…did you want to get breakfast…or…” I ask, even though I know it’s lame and inadequate.
“I-I need to leave soon…”
“Oh,” I say a little flustered and about ready to scramble off the bed when I feel his palm cupping my shoulder.
“I-I’m sorry…it’s just…it’s Sunday and I always go up and visit my mom. If I’m late it throws off her schedule…sh-she can get kind of agitated.”
Now I really feel embarrassed at my own insecurities that I’m sure are starting to show.
“Right,” I sigh more than say, then it dawns on me that I do actually have plans today and start searching for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Uh…” he seems a little startled by the suddenness of my question. “Not quite eight…”
I gather the sheets around me, shifting until I am sitting and he follows, studying me with a worried gaze.
“I told my sister I’d baby-sit today…I have to go home if I’m going to make it to her house before eleven,” I say.
He nods and we both stare at each other again; both of us hesitant to get out from under the amour of his sheets.
He stutters something that I don’t really catch and then turns so his back is to me, planting his feet on the floor. He’s officially back in the real world where there’s consequences, questions, and uncertainty.
I watch the muscles of his back flex as he scrubs his palms over his face and then finally take my cue to throw the covers off and get out of his bed.
I find my clothes and slip back into the black dress I had arrived in and I can’t help but think how cliché I am: slipping out of a man’s apartment wearing the same, but now disheveled clothes I had on the night before.
While I dress I hear him rise from the bed and slip into a pair of sweat pants that he pulls from a drawer.
When I turn back to face him he is watching me and wringing his hands together. He finally turns toward the door and I follow him back to the front door.
Neither of us knows what to say as he stands leaning on the now open door and I hover half in and half out of the apartment. I’ll call doesn’t seem genuine and I’ll see you later is too flippant.
I watch his hands hesitate between us, arguing with the rest of him that is too unsure to do what he wants. I take a fraction of a step toward him and hope that it’s enough of an encouragement.
It is, because I feel his palms on my cheeks and then his lips on mine. It’s simple and thankful more so than demanding and more memories from last night begin to flirt with my head.
He pulls back, which I’m not completely prepared for, but his hands are still on me and his thumbs brush back and forth against my cheekbones.
“I should go,” I say.
He nods.
“I know.”
His hands slip back to the space between us and then he watches me leave.
I’m on autopilot as I drive home, get into my house, and then start the shower.
I spend the whole time thinking about him and as I scrub my body clean of any sigh of him, I find myself mourning the loss.
I feel like some idiotic school girl as I wonder what he’s doing.
Has he already left for Carmel Ridge? Did he feel just as naked as I do now, when he washed my scent off of his skin? Is he even thinking about me? Will he call me tonight? Should I call him? Do we both need the distance before we can really process all of this and its meaning?
I force myself out of the shower and get ready to go see my nephew, who’s probably the only other living human being who might be able to get me to stop thinking about Bobby.
Within an hour I am back out the door and make the drive to my sister’s house.
I try to play it cool as I chit chat with Carrie and her husband as they prepare to leave for their day trip and pray that she doesn’t see it.
They finally leave us and it’s just me and Nathan. He’s starting to walk a little, but is still unsteady on his feet and latches on to whatever he can find to pull himself where he wishes to go.
My nerves ease as I watch and play with him. This little boy will probably never understand what he has done to me.
In many ways, after Joe died, I shut down when it came to my personal life.
Nathan has opened a door in me, giving room for someone else to move in. Apparently Bobby sees this and more importantly I’m discovering that I want to invite him in.
We have a quiet but wonderful day and when my sister gets back home Nathan is already down for the night.
I return to my empty house and get ready for bed. Since my distraction is now gone, I can’t help but start to think about Bobby again. I curse my brain for wandering to my partner and then my body for its reaction.
I can’t be this woman. I don’t pine. I don’t get googely-eyed. Why can he do this to me? I never thought of him this much before, did I?
I look over at the phone resting on my night stand and wonder if he’s debating whether or not it’s appropriate to call, but he doesn’t call me and I don’t call him.
Monday morning almost seems like any other. I come in to find Bobby already at his desk and reading a file.
He gives me a small smile, which I return easily despite the questions that scream between us and I hope we’re the only ones that can hear them.
We go through the day as if it’s any other. We get called out to a crime scene and talk to witnesses. Then head to the morgue to get another look at the body and hear what Rodgers found.
As we listen I watch him as he carefully lifts the victim’s arm with his strong but graceful fingers and I remember how those fingers pleaded, conversed, and finally danced with my skin.
I notice Rodgers glancing over me with the perplexed scowl that Bobby usually earns from her. I shake it off and move closer to the body, though I can feel the pink creeping over my cheeks.
Bobby rattles off theories and ideas, and I nod along.
We go on with our day and make pretty good headway on the case. To anyone else I’m confident we seemed like the usual Goren and Eames, bouncing ideas and findings back and forth with ease and little discussion.
We wrap up the day and I head to the elevator with him only a couple steps behind me.
It’s a regular occurrence, but this time instead of trying to decide what I might have for dinner or whether or not I’m going to drop by to see my nephew, I focus on walking straighter than normal and fight the urge to glance over my shoulder to see if I might catch him in the act of checking out my ass.
We step on the elevator in silence and my nerves twist my stomach into knots. Was it a fluke? Did he get what he needed and is never planning to bring it up again? Did he just fuck me when I could have sworn that every tentative movement was him making love to me?
God, did I really just use that term?
But that night he said that we couldn’t go back and he respects me too much for to use me. So why—
“D-did you want to get dinner?” his voice breaks into my head.
I must look like an idiot as I gape at him and try to reassemble any shred of rationality and dignity I can pull up from the floor.
“We-we could go get something…” he says lacing his fingers and I find myself comforted by his fidgeting. “Or-or you could come back to my apartment…I-I mean I could cook.”
I’ve never had a man cook for me. Joe tried once, but in the end we ended up having to order a pizza and to make matters worse, the same night he gave me a taser for our anniversary. He occasionally had his moments, but he was never much of a romantic. Neither am I for that matter and the fact that Bobby probably is makes me both wonderfully anxious to see what he may come up with or do next and frightened that I may be reading to much in to it.
He shifts and I am probably taking too long to respond.
“Uh…your place is fine.”
He nods and gives a smile that I want to believe is reserved only for me.
He follows me quietly to my car in the parking garage and I drive us to his apartment.
Once inside I shed my jacket, draping it over a chair at the small kitchen table, and he begins to rummage through the refrigerator. He pulls a few things out and lists a few different things he could make, wanting me to say which I would prefer.
I watch his shoulder blades move beneath his dress shirt and as he stands straight I step up behind him. I place my hand on the center of his back, silencing him, and then he slowly turns around.
He looks down at me with the same look he gave me when I woke up in his bed a day ago and I understand that he doesn’t want to be presumptuous. He wants me to invite him, to give him permission, but I also need him to meet me half way because I don’t know if I’m brave enough to make the decision for both of us.
This would be easier if I was taller or if he was shorter, since then I could effortlessly get my arms around him and pull him to me. But I’m short and he’s tall and there’s more maneuvering involved than I’m used to.
I take the ingredients out of his hands and place them on the kitchen table behind me. I stand on my tip toes, reaching to link my arms around his neck, and he does meet me half way, bending as I pull his mouth to mine.
I think the invitation is clear and I can hear his acceptance when he clasps his hands onto my waist.
He spins us around and before I realize it, I am seated on the counter with my thighs cradling his hips and our clothes becoming offensive barriers.
Our first time was cautious and explorative, while this time is needy and desperate.
We don’t make it to the bedroom and I’m pretty certain that neither of us will be able to look at his counter the same way again.
How can he do this? How can he make me feel like all my bones are about to splash against the linoleum of his kitchen floor?
His lips are against my temple letting out wordless melodies of cries and groans as I grip his shoulders, holding on for dear life, until my whole body seems to turn to jelly.
When he finally stills, we both are letting out harsh, shaky breaths and his legs tremble slightly against my thighs. I think that if there wasn’t a high probability of him busting open his skull, he would collapse to the floor.
I rest my forehead on his shoulder and plant my hands on either side of his waist, hoping that he hears the message: if you let me I’ll catch you.
His hands leave the support of the counter top and move to my cheeks, pulling my head up so that he can see me. He brushes my hair off of my now slightly damp face and leans in for a soft kiss.
His forehead falls against mine and his eyes are so close to mine that it’s almost startling.
He’s not like me; for all of his hiding and keeping people at a distance I’m still better or I guess worse depending on how you look at it. His feelings show through in every worry line and in every fleck of brown that colors his pupils.
I’m just as vulnerable and I think more terrified, but I have always let my cynicism and sarcasm rule my features, but I can feel them starting to soften.
He was right: there is no going back, no pretending that it doesn’t mean something even if we aren’t ready to clarify exactly what that is.
I lightly kiss him and he gives me that smile that I now know is my smile.
He carefully leaves my body and discards the condom I can’t recall when or how he put on, though I’m grateful that one of us had a rational adult thought.
He pulls his boxers back up around his hips and then picks up his shirt.
He drapes the shirt around my shoulders and I worm my arms into the sleeves, knowing I probably look comical with it hanging off of my limbs, but not really caring.
My eyes dart from his downcast face to his nimble fingers that work to slip close the buttons.
“I-I really did have…honorable intentions when I invited you here,” he says and I can’t help but laugh.
“Well I’m still expecting a dinner,” I say and he grins.
He stands straight and lightly tickles my knee with his fingertips.
“Good,” he says.
He takes my hands in his and helps me off the counter, but my legs still feel a little rubbery. He dips and picks up my panties. I take them from him before he actually passes them to me and then step into them.
A few moments later, I watch him as he cooks and I realize that he really enjoys doing it. He’s probably the most at ease that I’ve ever seen him and rattles off why he puts one spice in and not another, what consistency you want for a tomato sauce, and the perfect firmness for spaghetti noodles.
Once we sit to eat, I cross my ankles and rest my legs against his thigh. His left hand forks his food while his right massages my calf. We easily talk in between mouthfuls of food. He mentions wanting to talk to the victim’s husband again and the case is an easy starting point for us.
He finally asks how my day was with my nephew and I can’t help but grin. I explain how big Nathan is getting and that he’s walking a little.
I reach behind me, pull my phone from jacket pocket, and then search for the snapshots of Nathan. I pass Bobby the phone and he smiles as he scrolls through.
“He-he’s beautiful,” he says.
I blush slightly as I read between the lines. In his own round about, I don’t want to freak you out by saying this too soon way, he’s saying that I’m beautiful. I’m glad that he doesn’t say it outright. I’ve never been good with compliments and it would be too much, too fast for me to digest without a slight twinge of panic because of what him thinking that could possibly mean.
“How about you?” I ask tentatively.
He stills and maybe it’s too soon for me to ask about his visits with his mother. I know I don’t know everything but I know enough. I have on occasion noticed how he seems more tired some Mondays than he did when leaving the Friday before.
“I-it was okay,” he says with a nod and his fingers start working again against the skin of my leg.
“She had a good day.” He’s quiet for a couple of minutes and I leave it alone, returning to my plate. “Th-the meds they have her on are pretty effective…b-but some of the side effects…nausea mostly…can get really bad. But this week she felt pretty good.”
I understand how much it takes for him to tell me all this and I don’t take it lightly. It may only be a crack, but I honor it and hope, that when the time comes, I can also widen the doors of my past and pain to him.
We keep eating in a comfortable silence and then he clears the table when we are finished.
We both stand in front of each other in his kitchen and we can both feel things getting muddled again. He’s not ready for me to leave and I’m not ready to go.
He must recognize this because he takes the first step this time and twines his fingers with mine, gently tugging me toward the bedroom.
I follow and after we are just feet from his bed he pulls me in front of him. The fingers on his free hand lightly trace the lines of my face and I smile.
This eggs him on and he releases my hand so that he can loosen the buttons of the shirt I wear with the same deliberateness he had when closing them. He slides it off my shoulders, letting it flitter to the floor, and he drinks me with his fingertips, which brush against the curve of my breast and then slide down the line of my torso to play with the rim of my panties.
He kneels in front of me, cupping my hips in his hands, and kisses the slight swell of my abdomen that no amount of exercise seems to get rid of since having my nephew.
His fingers slide the short distance from skin to cotton and hooks his fingers into my panties to pull them down my legs.
After we fall into the bed, he proves that his memorization of patterns and ridiculous amounts of knowledge is not lost on the patterns and knowledge he finds painted on my skin or buried in the place he discovers inside of me.
We float in the pond that is his bed as I lie on my side and lazily stare at the white wall across from me. His body is curled around mine. His arm is wrapped around me and his hand is loosely latched to my wrist while his thumb teases my pulse point.
Bobby is a cuddler.
If this were any other man I’d probably feel suffocated. I have never fancied myself as a cuddly person and Joe, though attentive, wasn’t either. Maybe I’m a closet cuddler, because a girl could get use to this: to the warmth and the safety of being wrapped up in his limbs.
“Bobby?”
“Hmm?” I feel his reply whistle against my hair.
“You realize I can’t stay through the morning…”
He stiffens and he doesn’t have to actually move for me to know he’s retreating from me.
“I mean…” I regroup and twist my neck to look up at him. “I can’t exactly go to work tomorrow wearing the clothes I wore today…”
He smiles out of relief and maybe a little out of embarrassment.
“I-I guess not,” he says and then drops a kiss on my temple. “I-it’s okay if…if you want to bring a few things here…j-just in case.”
I nod and then rest my head back against the pillow.
“Make sure I wake up early enough to make it back to Rockaway, okay?”
I feel him nod and somewhere under the questions that still haven’t been answered we are certain that tomorrow I will be back in his bed and the night after that, and after that.
Eventually we won’t fall into his bed, but into mine. Some of my things will migrate into his space and the bottom drawer of my dresser that I never use will become his.
This may not turn out so horribly after all.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Beginnings -- Chapter 1
A/N: Evolution of B/A relationship for my Madison series. Begins in between seasons 3 &4
She didn’t really know why she had come there.
Despite her quick escape from her so called date, she wasn’t ready to go home. She knew if she did she would just start retracing everything that had gone wrong the day before, like she knew he was already doing.
So there she stood with her fist hovering just above Goren’s door, daring herself to knock.
She sighed and silently berated herself for her nerves before tapping her fist to the wooded door.
He appeared in front of her after a few seconds, wearing remnants of the suit he had on earlier; black slacks and a blue button down un-tucked and with the top few buttons loose.
“Eames?” he asked. “W-what are you doing here?”
He barely got the last word out before noticing her knee length black dress. It was sleeveless with a V in the front and back.
“Believe it or not I was in the neighborhood.”
“You…you look—“
“Oh. Right. I had a date…and it wasn’t going well so…”
“Okay…but are you all right?”
Eames sighed.
“I keep thinking about yesterday and…”
“Yeah, me too,” Goren said. “Come in.”
She followed him into the living room and saw three empty beer bottles on an end table next to an overstuffed chair.
“Started the party without me?” Eames asked.
“Well if I had known,” he replied. “Do you want one?”
“Please.”
Goren retrieved the two bottles and passed one to Eames. She sat at one end of the sofa, while he cautiously sat at the opposite.
Both took sips of their beers and stared at nothing in particular in silence.
From the corner of his eyes he watched her ring her hands and her knuckles tighten together.
He didn’t understand why she seemed so uncomfortable. They had tough cases before and on occasion they even went out for drinks afterwards. Since her return from maternity leave those occasions had become more frequent and they had even started to share dinners off duty a couple times a week.
“There’s nothing we could have done,” Eames said, slightly turning to catch his eyes.
“I pushed him too far…he wouldn’t have—“
“He was guilty.”
“He was a messed up kid. He didn’t premeditate killing his mother.”
“But he did premeditate covering it up and he got caught.”
“And he got scared…” Goren sat forward and rubbed his face in his hands. “I should have seen—“
“Bobby, this is not your fault,” she said and slid closer to his side of the sofa. “He pulled the trigger, not you.”
“I tried to talk him down…”
She put a soft hand on his rough cheek and turned his eyes to hers.
“You can’t help everyone.”
She didn’t remove her hand, nor did he pull away as her thumb stroked his cheek bone. Their eyes were locked with apprehension and want.
She was the one who pulled his lips to hers, but he was the one who parted her lips to explore her mouth and twined his fingers in her hair.
Eames pulled back. “Oh, God.”
She scrambled to her feet and retreated toward the door.
“Eames!” Goren called after her as he got to his feet. “Wait.”
He planted his palms against the door and surrounded her.
“Let me go’ Bobby.”
“You kissed me.”
“Your powers of observation are astounding.”
“Why’d you really come here?”
Eames shook her head, and then moved to go under his arm. She was stilled by his hand spreading across her stomach and they both felt the slight shudder that went through her.
“I told you.”
“Eames,” his voice was soft yet persistent.
She sighed, and then shrugged.
“I don’t know. I was eating dinner with Pete and…and it just wasn’t right.”
“What wasn’t right?”
She rolled her eyes and looked down at his hand. “Do you mind?”
Goren placed this hand back against the door and she leaned her head on it, staring at the cracks in his ceiling.
She let out a deep breath.
“When I started…dating again, after Joe died, I would always compare whoever I was with to him. How they laughed…or told a joke…the…the way they held a fucking fork. But now I notice the look they get when they’re thinking or…how graceful they are when they talk with their hands and…and I’m not comparing them to Joe anymore.”
Eames looked up at eyes that were soft and thoughtful.
Goren slid his hands away from the door.
His left fingers hovered over her cheek and then lightly traced the bone to her jaw, until he cradled her neck in his palm. He leaned in closer.
“You know we can’t go back now,” he said.
He fitted his lips to hers before she could respond.
His lips were full, soft, and warm and she couldn’t stifle the soft gasp that ran from her tongue to his. She stood as tall as she could and locked her arms around his neck.
His lips traveled down her neck as his hands made the journey down her sides and ended at her thighs. He hoisted her up to his height and she hooked her legs around his waist.
She snaked fingers through his hair and nipped at his cheek and ear. As his hands traveled up her thighs, she groaned against his temple and arched her pelvis into his, forcing a shuddering sigh from his lips to her shoulder.
“Bobby…” she panted into his ear.
“I know.”
He tightened his grip on her and carried her to his bed.
He hovered above her and glided his finger along the neckline of her dress as he watched her. She put her fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt, but then caught sight of his eyes. They were warm but distant.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“You’re sure about this?”
“You ask me that now?” she asked. “Are you?”
He nodded. “Y-yes.”
He leaned over her and pressed his lips into hers. They hurriedly disposed of each other’s clothes and began to taste and explore.
Goren traveled the path of her torso; kissing, drawing, memorizing. He made note of her responses, the freckles on her arms, the mole on her left hip, and the small scar on her right knee. He breathed kisses onto her inner thigh and she reached for him to come back to her.
She shuddered as he slid into her and they quickly found a rhythm that was tortuous but soft. They matched each other step for step and took inventory of every gasp, groan, or moan that escaped the other.
He felt her tightening around him and they collapsed into the other.
His face was buried in the crook of her neck as he took in their smell: honeysuckle, the musk of his cologne, the faint citrus in her hair, and sweat.
Her fingers combed through this hair as she kissed his temple and felt his nose against her neck.
She laughed softly.
“You’re smelling me aren’t you?”
He smiled against her skin.
“It’s a nice smell.”
She didn’t really know why she had come there.
Despite her quick escape from her so called date, she wasn’t ready to go home. She knew if she did she would just start retracing everything that had gone wrong the day before, like she knew he was already doing.
So there she stood with her fist hovering just above Goren’s door, daring herself to knock.
She sighed and silently berated herself for her nerves before tapping her fist to the wooded door.
He appeared in front of her after a few seconds, wearing remnants of the suit he had on earlier; black slacks and a blue button down un-tucked and with the top few buttons loose.
“Eames?” he asked. “W-what are you doing here?”
He barely got the last word out before noticing her knee length black dress. It was sleeveless with a V in the front and back.
“Believe it or not I was in the neighborhood.”
“You…you look—“
“Oh. Right. I had a date…and it wasn’t going well so…”
“Okay…but are you all right?”
Eames sighed.
“I keep thinking about yesterday and…”
“Yeah, me too,” Goren said. “Come in.”
She followed him into the living room and saw three empty beer bottles on an end table next to an overstuffed chair.
“Started the party without me?” Eames asked.
“Well if I had known,” he replied. “Do you want one?”
“Please.”
Goren retrieved the two bottles and passed one to Eames. She sat at one end of the sofa, while he cautiously sat at the opposite.
Both took sips of their beers and stared at nothing in particular in silence.
From the corner of his eyes he watched her ring her hands and her knuckles tighten together.
He didn’t understand why she seemed so uncomfortable. They had tough cases before and on occasion they even went out for drinks afterwards. Since her return from maternity leave those occasions had become more frequent and they had even started to share dinners off duty a couple times a week.
“There’s nothing we could have done,” Eames said, slightly turning to catch his eyes.
“I pushed him too far…he wouldn’t have—“
“He was guilty.”
“He was a messed up kid. He didn’t premeditate killing his mother.”
“But he did premeditate covering it up and he got caught.”
“And he got scared…” Goren sat forward and rubbed his face in his hands. “I should have seen—“
“Bobby, this is not your fault,” she said and slid closer to his side of the sofa. “He pulled the trigger, not you.”
“I tried to talk him down…”
She put a soft hand on his rough cheek and turned his eyes to hers.
“You can’t help everyone.”
She didn’t remove her hand, nor did he pull away as her thumb stroked his cheek bone. Their eyes were locked with apprehension and want.
She was the one who pulled his lips to hers, but he was the one who parted her lips to explore her mouth and twined his fingers in her hair.
Eames pulled back. “Oh, God.”
She scrambled to her feet and retreated toward the door.
“Eames!” Goren called after her as he got to his feet. “Wait.”
He planted his palms against the door and surrounded her.
“Let me go’ Bobby.”
“You kissed me.”
“Your powers of observation are astounding.”
“Why’d you really come here?”
Eames shook her head, and then moved to go under his arm. She was stilled by his hand spreading across her stomach and they both felt the slight shudder that went through her.
“I told you.”
“Eames,” his voice was soft yet persistent.
She sighed, and then shrugged.
“I don’t know. I was eating dinner with Pete and…and it just wasn’t right.”
“What wasn’t right?”
She rolled her eyes and looked down at his hand. “Do you mind?”
Goren placed this hand back against the door and she leaned her head on it, staring at the cracks in his ceiling.
She let out a deep breath.
“When I started…dating again, after Joe died, I would always compare whoever I was with to him. How they laughed…or told a joke…the…the way they held a fucking fork. But now I notice the look they get when they’re thinking or…how graceful they are when they talk with their hands and…and I’m not comparing them to Joe anymore.”
Eames looked up at eyes that were soft and thoughtful.
Goren slid his hands away from the door.
His left fingers hovered over her cheek and then lightly traced the bone to her jaw, until he cradled her neck in his palm. He leaned in closer.
“You know we can’t go back now,” he said.
He fitted his lips to hers before she could respond.
His lips were full, soft, and warm and she couldn’t stifle the soft gasp that ran from her tongue to his. She stood as tall as she could and locked her arms around his neck.
His lips traveled down her neck as his hands made the journey down her sides and ended at her thighs. He hoisted her up to his height and she hooked her legs around his waist.
She snaked fingers through his hair and nipped at his cheek and ear. As his hands traveled up her thighs, she groaned against his temple and arched her pelvis into his, forcing a shuddering sigh from his lips to her shoulder.
“Bobby…” she panted into his ear.
“I know.”
He tightened his grip on her and carried her to his bed.
He hovered above her and glided his finger along the neckline of her dress as he watched her. She put her fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt, but then caught sight of his eyes. They were warm but distant.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“You’re sure about this?”
“You ask me that now?” she asked. “Are you?”
He nodded. “Y-yes.”
He leaned over her and pressed his lips into hers. They hurriedly disposed of each other’s clothes and began to taste and explore.
Goren traveled the path of her torso; kissing, drawing, memorizing. He made note of her responses, the freckles on her arms, the mole on her left hip, and the small scar on her right knee. He breathed kisses onto her inner thigh and she reached for him to come back to her.
She shuddered as he slid into her and they quickly found a rhythm that was tortuous but soft. They matched each other step for step and took inventory of every gasp, groan, or moan that escaped the other.
He felt her tightening around him and they collapsed into the other.
His face was buried in the crook of her neck as he took in their smell: honeysuckle, the musk of his cologne, the faint citrus in her hair, and sweat.
Her fingers combed through this hair as she kissed his temple and felt his nose against her neck.
She laughed softly.
“You’re smelling me aren’t you?”
He smiled against her skin.
“It’s a nice smell.”
Prelude I
A/N: A post-ep for "F.P.S."
Shit.
When the hell did this happen?
Shit.
If someone told me three years ago before meeting my new partner, whose handshake was far too firm for a woman of her stature, that I would end up completely and utterly…no.
I knew I liked her within ten minutes of meeting her, after the first snide comment fell from her lips and I responded with a hesitant, but amused smile. This is probably why I spent our first months as partners provoking her, seeing how far she’d let me push her and, in some instances, myself. It’s childish, I know, but I needed to test her to see if she would throw her hands in the air and run the other way.
But she never did, whether out of genuine want or pure obstinacy, I’m not sure I’ll ever know, not that it really matters anymore. She learned to trust that I wasn’t pushing her out of an investigation, while I learned that I needed her to counter my theories.
See, Nicole was right; I don’t like being contradicted or wrong. It still hurts when she calls me on something, but I know she’s doing it out of respect and because she cares, otherwise I doubt she’d bother.
So we found an amicable rhythm with each other, which grew into a genuine concern for the other’s well being and then it became a real friendship.
The confines of our partnership are shifting again into something that I’ve yet to find a label or explanation for.
Academically, I can reason that it’s not love, not really, but sheer proximity mixed with the basic need for closeness and understanding. It is the one thing that makes us all so undeniably the same and horribly predictable.
Of course, I can also counter then that Bishop should be a perfectly suitable, even if temporary, replacement, but all of us know that she will never be my partner. That’s where the longing comes into play and thus the proof that it has nothing to do with proximity.
I miss my partner.
I wasn’t anticipating this. I wasn’t anticipating needing her to be there, to shoot down my ideas when my own feelings had clouded my judgment, or to alleviate the tension with her sarcasm. I miss having someone there who knows where my mind is headed and who, with out effort, can still surprise me. I’ve seen enough where very little surprises or unnerves me; it still angers me, but not surprises. All she has to do is say one little off handed comment and for a few seconds I’m completely amused either because she was trying to make me so or by how she smirks at making me uncomfortable.
I miss her.
So here I stand in the maternity ward as I watch the last of her family leave her room and head toward the nursery to welcome a new life into the family, whom she has given them.
I can’t get my feet to move. I’m afraid that it won’t be my partner I find on the other side of that door, but the woman beneath her; the wife who lost her husband, the sister or daughter, the mother who isn’t a mother.
I force myself to move, if only by the silly need to be in her presence and to make sure she will be okay.
She seems smaller than normal in the white hospital bed. She lays, her eyes drifting, with one hand on her abdomen and the other draped over her ribs.
When she notices me I can tell she’s surprised to see me there.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey,” I say, walking shyly up to the side of her bed. “How are you feeling?”
I know the question is inadequate, but what else is there to ask?
She carefully considers her answer and I can see her scrolling through the events of the last twenty-four hours and past nine months.
“Sore,” she says with a wry smile.
We both know she doesn’t just mean her body, but neither of us will venture any further down that road.
“It’s nice of you to come,” she continues. “You didn’t have to.”
I want to say yes, yes I did, but settle for, “I know. I won’t stay long…I just wanted to see how you were…and it’s not like I’d be sleeping anyway.”
She returns my teasing smile with one of her own.
“You should go see him.”
See, its little things like that that throw me through a loop with her. I have no claim or right to see this child or to wedge myself between the aunts and uncles already gazing through the glass, but yet she offers me the chance to be a part of it.
“Maybe…” is all I get out, though we both know I won’t go. “What’s his name?”
“Nathan Alexander…and Nathan was my contribution not Alexander just for the record.”
“It’s a good name…I should probably let you rest. I’ll talk to you soon.”
She nods and I turn to leave.
“Goren?” I hear a slight waver in her voice, which I know she trusts me to ignore.
“Yeah, Eames?”
“Um…” she hesitates. “Could…could you turn off some of the lights on your way? It’s too bright in here to sleep.”
I nod and leave her in the dim lit room.
Shit.
When the hell did this happen?
Shit.
If someone told me three years ago before meeting my new partner, whose handshake was far too firm for a woman of her stature, that I would end up completely and utterly…no.
I knew I liked her within ten minutes of meeting her, after the first snide comment fell from her lips and I responded with a hesitant, but amused smile. This is probably why I spent our first months as partners provoking her, seeing how far she’d let me push her and, in some instances, myself. It’s childish, I know, but I needed to test her to see if she would throw her hands in the air and run the other way.
But she never did, whether out of genuine want or pure obstinacy, I’m not sure I’ll ever know, not that it really matters anymore. She learned to trust that I wasn’t pushing her out of an investigation, while I learned that I needed her to counter my theories.
See, Nicole was right; I don’t like being contradicted or wrong. It still hurts when she calls me on something, but I know she’s doing it out of respect and because she cares, otherwise I doubt she’d bother.
So we found an amicable rhythm with each other, which grew into a genuine concern for the other’s well being and then it became a real friendship.
The confines of our partnership are shifting again into something that I’ve yet to find a label or explanation for.
Academically, I can reason that it’s not love, not really, but sheer proximity mixed with the basic need for closeness and understanding. It is the one thing that makes us all so undeniably the same and horribly predictable.
Of course, I can also counter then that Bishop should be a perfectly suitable, even if temporary, replacement, but all of us know that she will never be my partner. That’s where the longing comes into play and thus the proof that it has nothing to do with proximity.
I miss my partner.
I wasn’t anticipating this. I wasn’t anticipating needing her to be there, to shoot down my ideas when my own feelings had clouded my judgment, or to alleviate the tension with her sarcasm. I miss having someone there who knows where my mind is headed and who, with out effort, can still surprise me. I’ve seen enough where very little surprises or unnerves me; it still angers me, but not surprises. All she has to do is say one little off handed comment and for a few seconds I’m completely amused either because she was trying to make me so or by how she smirks at making me uncomfortable.
I miss her.
So here I stand in the maternity ward as I watch the last of her family leave her room and head toward the nursery to welcome a new life into the family, whom she has given them.
I can’t get my feet to move. I’m afraid that it won’t be my partner I find on the other side of that door, but the woman beneath her; the wife who lost her husband, the sister or daughter, the mother who isn’t a mother.
I force myself to move, if only by the silly need to be in her presence and to make sure she will be okay.
She seems smaller than normal in the white hospital bed. She lays, her eyes drifting, with one hand on her abdomen and the other draped over her ribs.
When she notices me I can tell she’s surprised to see me there.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey,” I say, walking shyly up to the side of her bed. “How are you feeling?”
I know the question is inadequate, but what else is there to ask?
She carefully considers her answer and I can see her scrolling through the events of the last twenty-four hours and past nine months.
“Sore,” she says with a wry smile.
We both know she doesn’t just mean her body, but neither of us will venture any further down that road.
“It’s nice of you to come,” she continues. “You didn’t have to.”
I want to say yes, yes I did, but settle for, “I know. I won’t stay long…I just wanted to see how you were…and it’s not like I’d be sleeping anyway.”
She returns my teasing smile with one of her own.
“You should go see him.”
See, its little things like that that throw me through a loop with her. I have no claim or right to see this child or to wedge myself between the aunts and uncles already gazing through the glass, but yet she offers me the chance to be a part of it.
“Maybe…” is all I get out, though we both know I won’t go. “What’s his name?”
“Nathan Alexander…and Nathan was my contribution not Alexander just for the record.”
“It’s a good name…I should probably let you rest. I’ll talk to you soon.”
She nods and I turn to leave.
“Goren?” I hear a slight waver in her voice, which I know she trusts me to ignore.
“Yeah, Eames?”
“Um…” she hesitates. “Could…could you turn off some of the lights on your way? It’s too bright in here to sleep.”
I nod and leave her in the dim lit room.
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